A Man's Solemn Song
by PlainJane101
Summary: Aragorn is a typical ranger from the North who joins the fellowship in destroying the ring. As he journeys through distant lands, he slowly comes to realize that he is so much more than a mere ranger. He is the one who brings hope to others and he must choose the fate of all MortalKind. AragornxArwen & AragornxOC. 10th Walker.
1. Chapter 1 Trust's Boundaries

**Svidi(Me): Ladies and Gentlemen, I am glad you clicked on this story! May I introdruce the story 'A Man's Solemn Song'! An Aragorn/Arwen AND Aragorn/OC! Also a tenth walker!**

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**Chapter 1 _Trust's Boundaries_**

Sabers. Never really cared for the creatures. They are the size of horses, but are twice as strong and almost as swift as them.

Sabers are creatures not to fool with, especially with their two colossal fangs the size of a man's arm that jut forth from their upper jaw. Despite the creatures' hulking mass, their green stripped coats serve them well for camouflage in the plains of MiddleEarth, especially in the plains of the Shire. I had almost lost my life to a Saber once.

It all happened so quickly that I hadn't known what hit me, but I remember every exact detail to the attack and to the events that occurred while I was recovering.

I was pinned to the ground. Both of her front paws cupped my entire head as she steadied my neck for the killing blow. Her muscular chest weighed down on mine, effectively trapping my arms at my sides and cracking several of my ribs. If I hadn't known any better at the time, I would say that my ribs had ripped past my skin and were lying beside me in the bloodstained grass. I remember trying to kick her in the underbelly, hoping to hit her somewhere sensitive.

That attack only egged her on. The Saber roared in my face intentionally, as if mocking my feeble attempts to reclaim my life. It's as if she said "You fool". She placed her rear paws onto my kneecaps and pushed down on them with so much force that I can still recall the searing pain that shot from them to my head. Then to my own horror, my legs went numb.

Once my whole body was all but free, she raised her head high and spread her jaws as wide as a snake's. I recall her colossal head blocking out the sun and hiding her hideous face in the recesses of shadow. Her yellowed fangs then raced towards me and my vision tunneled.

Fortunately, I was travelling with my fellow ranger, Vaemyr, at the time. Before her jaws could dispatch me, Vaemyr drew his sword and thrusted the blade through her thick neck. She quickly passed with a whimper, which I still can feel vibrating throughout me like a purr. When she fell dead atop me, the wind was knocked out of my lungs.

Slowly I suffocated under the Saber's weight. The pressure on my ribs only intensified and my legs were still numb at the time.

I was completely unaware of Vaemyr's arms hooked about mine as he gradually pulled my numb body from beneath her. After a long struggle, I was free, and I remember lying back in the long grass, taking deep breaths, and imagining myself lying in a pile of my own blood and flesh.

It still felt like I was beneath her body.

Then I started to drift off into a light sleep, but Vaemyr violently shook my shoulder and awakened me. "Don't fall asleep! How will I be able to explain to Arwen why your corpse is lying here?" His voice was so deafening that I could sworn have that he shouted in my ear. He then informed me of my injuries.

Most of my ribs were broken and the bones in my legs were fractured. When I raised my head to see what Vaemyr was saying, I couldn't move any further. I recall the sudden jolt of pain as the back of my skull collided with the ground once again. The damp dark clouds dimmed quickly to pitch black.

A day later I awoke in Rivendell, lying in my bed with my ribs bandaged and my legs being reset. I was bedridden for 40 days, but they quickly passed with the frequent visits of Vaemyr and some other fellow rangers, Arwen and her father Lord Elrond, Elrond's twin sons Elladan and Elrohir, and most other Elves who live in Rivendell.

There was a sudden visit from Gandalf the Grey and I had asked him why he came with proper curiosity. He never shown his face in Rivendell after he acquired a little girl for a daughter. My memory of the little girl was fuzzy, which was odd because she was one of the few people brought to me that seemed beyond the living whom I had successfully healed. Gandalf replied that he was no longer known as Gandalf the Grey, but known as Gandalf the Trader because he had taken up the textile trade and put aside his wizardry for his daughter's sake.

"Don't make much money being a wizard. With one more mouth to feed, I had to find an easier living. And so I took up the textile trade. I have a successful shop down in Archet. You should drop by sometime and buy some textiles for Arwen." Gandalf said.

I was able to walk a bit after 40 days, but I would walk about with a slight and aching limp. Arwen offered me a cane after the first day of painful limping, which I gratefully took. I was able to move about with much more ease.

One day I came across Vaemyr in the Great Hall and inquired him about how he was able to get me from the plains of the Shire to Rivendell. He admitted that he had worsened my injuries on the way to Rivendell, but not by much. I was not inclined to believe that he "hadn't worsened my injuries by much", but I did not call him out on it.

The day before I was able to mount a horse again, Arwen entered my chambers in the morning with some fresh herbs in a hot bowl of water. She sat on the edge of my bed and forced the steaming herbs down my throat. I can still taste the herbs…like a mint-boiled egg that had sat out too long in the scorching sun with a clown of flies feasting upon it.

I invited her to a walk through the Back Gardens with the unspoken intention of giving myself to her in marriage. She accepted the walk. For several years, I had planned this and looked for the opportune moment to ask her, and at that moment, I saw it.

I remember passing through the vast assortment of flowers on either side of the stone path. The sun was setting, casting an array of rose and lavender shades past the Misty Mountains surrounding Rivendell and across the sky. Arwen walked alongside me with a downwards glance, her arm linked with mine as we continued along the stone path.

There was still slight pain in each of my steps, but not nearly enough to slow my gait. The anticipation of how she'd respond once I openly gave myself to her ate at me. Would she accept or would she deny me? I recall the question running through my mind over and over, taunting me with the possibilities of denial. All the love I had for her would show if hers mirrored mine at that moment.

She startled me when she asked "What did you want to speak to me about?" I stopped our walk and turned to her. She stopped and turned, looking up at me.

"What is it, Aragorn?" Arwen asked. I sighed and pulled my arm from hers, taking her slender and beautiful face in my hands. She was dressed in a gorgeous white gown and her long dark hair fell gracefully about her shoulders. Arwen's eyes were a deep blue, like the abyss of the farthest oceans bordering the ends of the earth. Her eyes seemed to shimmer like the ocean's surface on a clear afternoon sky.

"What?" I recall her brow furrowing in confusion. Was she that oblivious to my intentions? Perhaps it wasn't the best thought to cross my mind at the moment, but I doubted she would give up her immortality to be with me, a mortal. Then I thought of how selfish and arrogant I was, asking her to give her life for 200 years of pain, suffering, finally death with me.

I knew what I was asking and I knew that I presented myself as an arrogant and selfish man not worthy of her, but I remember drawing a deep breath and holding onto it for a moment too long.

Her hands came over mine and then I was half aware of the words that flowed out of my mouth like incessant strings of curses.

"Arwen, I know of what I ask. I have known you for 50 years. Here are the terms of what I ask…of you. I have loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you and we have come this far. You are immortal and I am mortal. I present myself before you today in the Back Gardens of Rivendell, in the house of your father, to ask that you accept me…as your husband."

Before I could even read her features to see her response, her lips clashed against mine. I had been caught off guard, but then I slowly fell into the kiss.

After a deep kiss, she pulled away and only nodded wordlessly. At first, I had mistaken the nod for a shake, but her head kept bobbing like an apple tossed in water.

"Aragorn, are you listening?" Vaemyr draws me out of my recollection. My knees are close to my face and I realize I am crouching for the sake of stealth. I turn my gaze to his crouched form several feet behind me and say "One thought can lead to another, my friend."

"Indeed. What was on your mind?" Vaemyr cast me an inquisitive look past the dark strands of hair in his face. I take in his features. Tall and lean, dark eyes set deep in his skull, long dark hair, prominent jaw lined with stubble, and clad in all black. He was not much of the prying nature, but he seems to be the prying one today.

"You are not usually of the prying nature." I say. A light chuckle escapes his throat.

"I was just curious. Of course" Vaemyr cocks his head to the side. "curiosity did kill the Saber."

"The cat." I correct. He straightens his head and sighs.

"I meant that as a hint to return to the task at hand. Don't forget the complaint some of the 'quaint Proudfoot Hobbits' had."

"Oh, that's right." I mutter, turning my gaze back to the large cat-like footprint matting the grass before me. The "quaint Proudfoot Hobbits", or so how Vaemyr had put it, had come up to us and complained about one Saber, possibly more, eating their livestock.

When some of them led us back to their farm, they explained to us that half of their chickens were missing. Their goat pen had been smashed and they pointed out to us the blood trails leading from the smashed goat pen to the empty grassy plains of the Shire surrounding their colossal fields.

After seeing this, Vaemyr and I had assured the Hobbits that perhaps the creatures responsible for the dead goats and the missing chickens were either wolves or coyotes and that we would hunt them down.

We had turned leave, following one of the blood trails from the goat pen, but a plump Proudfoot man had stopped us and said "Wait, Bounder, Strider, wait! You haven't seen the barn! We keep our cows in there and when we walked in the barn this morning, their bodies were strewn across…everywhere! From the shoulder down, their bodies were mostly devoured and some of their bones were crushed and the reddish stuff inside the bones is missing! Their necks, oh, their necks will probably persuade you! Come with me."

When we had entered the barn, everything the plump Hobbit claimed was to exact detail. Cows' bodies, more like heads, were spread across bloody hay dotted with small fragments of bone. I recall the putrid odor of rotting flesh. The Proudfoot Hobbit directed our eyes to one of the cow heads and pointed to the remainder of the neck that was attached to the head.

Upon seeing the two large puncture wounds in the neck, about a foot apart, I had told the Proudfoot man that we would hunt down the Saber and inform him of its death soon. Then Vaemyr and I dismissed ourselves and quickly left the foul place, avoiding the blood trails of the goats because if we did follow it, then we would surely be walking into a mother Saber protecting her litter.

We decided to give the blood trails a wide birth and perhaps catch the Saber by surprise. Now here we are, following a path of Saber tracks that hopefully lead to the nursing mother.

"What direction is the wind blowing? I don't want her to pick up our scent." Vaemyr says. If we are nearing the Saber's territory, he has a point.

I could stand to feel the wind, but that would be a dead giveaway, seeing that the grass only comes to our waists. We are hidden well in the tall grass by crouching. A clod of dirt tossed in the wind would attract her attention. Licking my finger and sticking it to the wind would be the same as standing because of the Saber's keen eyesight, which is sharper than elves.

I run through my options again. The grass! I could see which way the grass is blowing. I look up at the tops of the grass and am disappointed to find the tips remaining motionless. The wind isn't blowing nearly enough to sway the thick green blades.

"The wind isn't blowing much." I answer.

"Damn!" Vaemyr yells. "If we don't know which way the wind is blowing, then how can we know if she won't have a lead on us before we can even attack?" Horror strikes. His earsplitting curses have just alerted every single animal within hearing range of our presence!

I quickly whip about, seeing if anything is moving in the grass.

"What is-" Vaemyr starts with a rather loud voice. I turn quickly and raise a shaky hand in frustration, mouthing the words "Be quiet." Drawing my black bow, I reach behind my back and draw an arrow from my quiver, sliding the arrow against the bowstring. I shake the readied bow at Vaemyr, wanting him to ready his.

His eyes grow wide and he cowers into the grass, acting as if…as if I am turning on him, going to…kill him. Does he think that I would?

Why would I turn on him? Have I done nothing but earn his trust for the past 50 years? Wait, would he turn on me if given the circumstances? If he suspects me of doing it, then what's to stop him from doing it to me?

The thoughts are frightening and I decide to dwell on them later. I receive a quick reminder of the possible looming danger when I look at his horrified eyes.

I shake my head and say "Not you!"

Vaemyr nods shakily. He draws his bow and loads it with an arrow in deft movements, but the fear still resides in his eyes. I turn from him and push the fear he has of me aside. What did I do to him? No, no, can't think this now. Saber, saber. I repeat "Saber" in my mind to drown out the fear he has of me…and I of him…

I am shaking the thick green blades of grass about me like I'm struggling prey as I search the grassy walls for any movement. If I am not helping to protect us, I am giving whatever heard the shouting a more precise location of where we are.

That did not stop my continuation of eccentric spins. It's not an option to let a predator catch us by surprise. If anything, we stand a better chance knowing where the attackers are coming than being sitting ducks and hoping that the attackers will pass us up.

Vaemyr joins in, also flinging his head and body about in funny ways, checking our surroundings. My stomach twists and turns this way and that. God only knows what is hunting us right now. We must seem like flailing pigs wallowing in a puddle of our blood.

The Saber that had attacked me about 37 years ago flashes across my mind. Ribs snapping, bones breaking, searing pain. Numb and engulfed in darkness.

I can still see the large Saber atop me, raising her head higher than Vaemyr's stature and flashing those two large serrated teeth.

There's a rustling of grass to my left. I halt, facing Vaemyr who has also stopped moving. Everything falls silent…this could be it. Wait, what if the rustle was a decoy, a diversion to avert our attention on one area while another creature attacked from behind? This is a common hunting tactic to male Sabers hunting in pairs.

As if Vaemyr reads my mind, he points at me with his index finger and motions to the direction of the noise. I nod and turn my body towards the original spot of the noise. Lifting my bow and pulling the arrow back, I try estimate where the predator's heart is. Whether it is a Saber or a wolf I do not know. All I know is that it's either me or the creature. I prefer the corpse in the end result to be the creature.

Out of the corners of my eyes, I see Vaemyr turn his back to me and quietly lift his bow and pull the arrow back as far as the bowstring could stretch.

The tension in my bowstring seems to blister my finger pads. My fist tightens about the leather grip of the bow, steadying the arrow between my index and middle finger. A breath goes in and goes out, in and out, in and out, glazing the arrow.

"NOW!" Vaemyr shouts. I jump to my feet with my readied bow.

A white blur is all I see as I release the arrow. The arrow sails through the air, closing in on the white animal that is…bounding away from us?

Before I can even realize what I had just shot at, the arrow pierces the white creature through the back of its head. It instantly tumbles to the ground, disappearing in the tall grass.

I stand here, my feet frozen to the ground. What have I just killed? Vaemyr runs past me, towards the corpse. Not moving, I watch as Vaemyr crouches, disappearing in the grass close to where the white animal is. He must be examining my kill.

Vaemyr reappears in the waist high grass and waves his hand, motioning for me to come. "Come, my friend! See what you have killed!" At first I do not budge, remembering the fear in Vaemyr's eyes. How can he think I would betray him?

"Friend, come!" I run towards him to simply appease him. Perhaps he cowered in the grass because he was trying to hide? I shake my head and continue to make my way towards him.

Stopping at his side, I stare at the dead creature before me.

"A white deer." I mutter, staring down at the robust white buck. Sprouting from either side of his head are two petite velvet studs, which must be fresh new antlers growing in. Between the studs is my arrow, crimson blood oozing from the mortal wound, slipping down his fine white coat, and pooling beneath his head.

A damn shame I had to shoot such a stunning creature. White deer are extremely rare and this is my first time seeing one in all my 87 years. I would have much preferred to have watched the animal graze in the tall grass from a distance than to have shot him.

"He's beautiful. Fetch a good price at the butchers, I'm certain." Vaemyr says as he kneels next to the creature, setting his bow beside him in the grass. He reaches out and runs his palm along the white coat.

"Yes." I agree. "But he isn't the creature we are hunting."

Vaemyr remains silent, examining my arrow in the deer's head.

"Come on, Vaemyr. Let's continue." He continues to examine the arrow, pinching the flesh around the shaft of the arrow between his fingers. My patience starts to wear thin. The Saber is still out there probably wrecking havoc upon some vulnerable farmers that could have been prevented were we not probing a deer's corpse.

"Vaemyr-"

"Aragorn," He interrupts me. "we can continue the hunt tomorrow. I can assure you she is not going to eat the farmers and their livestock in the same night."

"How do you know?" I counter. "Sabers are-"

"Why don't you go to Bree, spend the night at the Prancing Pony, hmm?" Vaemyr gets to his feet. "Get some sleep and continue the hunt at dawn." The offer he makes is tempting. My eyelids start to feel heavy and I suppress a yawn back down my throat. Turning to the horizon, I find that the sun is nearly set and the sky is taking on an orange hue.

"In the morning." I confirm, looking Vaemyr in the eye. He laughs and nods, approaching me and slapping me on the back.

"I'll see you later, my friend. We meet here tomorrow at dawn."

"And if one of us does not show up?" I ask.

"We go looking for the other." He says.

Vaemyr turns from me and approaches the white deer now surrounded in a pool of his blood. I stand here for a moment, not budging.

Does Vaemyr actually believe I would turn on him? Or did he just stare at me with horror and cower away from me because, because…I don't know. I do not want to think about it, the thought is so frightening.

"Off you go." Vaemyr is eager to rid of me. I simply walk to Bree, ready for a good night's rest. Hopefully enough sleep will give me ample energy to pull through tomorrow despite Vaemyr's…supposed fear of me. Maybe I misunderstood him.

Whatever the case maybe, I dwell upon the Saber attack 37 years ago, when Vaemyr did not fear me. I start to reenact the Saber pouncing on me, breaking my ribs and legs by wrapping one arm about my ribs and reaching down with my other arm, touching my fingertips to my kneecap. As I continue to walk in the awkward position, A yawn comes up my throat and I don't suppress it this time, letting my mouth open wide to let it out.


	2. Chapter 2 A Man's Pleasure

**I just want to thank BrightWatcher. The first chapter is a bit hard to understand, but hopefully this one is better. ENJOY!**

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**Chapter 2_ A Man's Pleasure_**

The sun had set several hours ago and it is pelting rain. I had fastened my black cloak about my neck and had pulled up the hood to at least keep my head and shoulders dry. What is pleasant about the cloak is that it is made of an Elfish material known as cognato, durable cotton found in the depths of the oceans. Cognato's fibers, if woven tightly together into a piece of clothing such as my cloak, can form a firm barrier between the wearer and rain and in rare cases, small hail.

A clap of thunder rumbles in the sky, briefly lighting up the muddy road before me. The massive trees of the Old Forest overshadow the road on either side, the dark bark trunks of the trees thick and sturdy.

I climb up an incline in the road. With each step I take, my leather boots sink into the mud. _Slosh…slosh…slosh. _I noisily pull my foot out of the mud and ready myself for another step. _Slosh…slosh._

The Saber that attacked me 37 years ago comes back to my mind. Wading through the muddy road, trying to reach the top of the hill makes me that helpless pig wallowing in mud and its own blood. Vaemyr's fearful eyes haunt and mock me.

The frost-bitten air nips at my entire body. Another clap of thunder lights up the night sky and I see in the fleeting light that I am near the top of the hill.

My thigh muscles start to ache and just in time too. The road takes on a steeper incline. I am now climbing a sheer, slippery mountain it seems, each step I take falls back halfway.

The soft yellow glow of numerous oil lanterns spills past the hilltop, beckoning me into its warm embrace. I let another quiet yawn out as I take my final steps onto the top of the hill.

Down the slightly sloping road lies Bree. Mainly a large man-village, the numerous shops and houses are built in no particular arrangement. Houses are between shops, and shops between houses. Out of the abundant square windows emanates the soft yellow glow that had shown past the hill.

I can just feel the hearth's warm and hospitable flames in the Prancing Pony sing me a melodious lullaby.

My eyes drift shut and my weight starts to leans backwards, back down the hill. Throbbing thigh muscles jolt me back awake. They remind me I only have a little further to go and then I can lie down and rest.

I trudge forward through the pouring rain down the road, grabbing the hems of my cloak and pulling it tighter about me for warmth. The cool leather sheathe of my sword slaps my aching thigh with each stride, intensifying the soreness of it.

A few more steps I think. I am a several yards from the main gate. Past the gate and through the threshold of the Prancing Pony Inn awaits my reward. Plush blankets and comfortable mattress just waiting to cradle me to sleep.

I run the rest of the way, not caring about the mud that splashes onto my black vest.

Upon reaching the towering main gate, I pound on the dark wood with my fist. Hopefully the drunken gateman, Cellyn, is sober enough to open it. I lower my hand for a second, waiting for him to open the gate, but nothing happens.

My patience is as thinned out as me, considering how today's events went. Vaemyr's fearful eyes…why won't that image leave me alone? Perhaps he visualizes me as the robust white buck. That's how he will bring about my demise, an arrow through the head. Quick, clean, precise. The bitter cold seeps through all my clothes, even past my dark long coat and gnaws my bare flesh.

One moment goes by…and another…and another. Out of irritation I raise my fist to pound again, but am stopped when the upper slot opens to show a pair of eyes peering drearily at me.

"Wh-who's there?" He slurs. Cellyn's drunken eyes scan me over.

"Ah, a ranger, reckon you're comin' to stay a' one of those fancy fine inns just down the road. From what direction are ya?"

"North." I reply.

"Alrigh', just gimme a moment." The slot closes and no sooner the gate opens wide, allowing me entrance.

I enter into Bree as Cellyn closes the gate behind me. The streets are crowded with men and women, some drunk, some sober, and some too stupid to tell the difference. Slowly I make my way through the thickets of people, occasionally passing the smell of some sweet ale sadly mixed with the stench of urine.

From beneath my hood, I notice that some eyes of men and women are drawn to me. I'm certain it's because I am a head taller than the crowd. The hood only draws more attention. A tall hooded man who sticks out like a Saber amidst the ocean of bare and hooded heads.

The smell of ale mixed with stale urine reaches my nostrils once again. I look down at my feet to find a man caressing an unconscious woman in the mud. He brushes her filthy soaked strands of hair aside and leans towards her ear, whispering inaudible words.

It angers me to see a man treat a woman like this. Pull her to the mud down with him so as to pleasure himself.

I lean forward with outstretched arms, about to pull the man away from the unconscious woman and help her to her feet, but the stench of rotting flesh mixes with the ale and urine. Looking closer at her through the pelting rain, I see her pallor and some of her cheek flesh has decomposed, revealing the rotting yellow-gold teeth inside her mouth.

Dead. She's dead.

Taking my leave, I push further through the crowd, keeping every yawn I have down my throat. I brush past shoulders and heads, occasionally bumping into the small child wandering around in search of their mother.

Bree is by no means the perfect man-village, but its Inns are decent at least. No rotting corpses and no orphaned children.

I see it. The sign that reads 'Prancing Pony' with the reared pony beneath the name sways in the powerful gusts of wind. "Only if it blew like this earlier." I mutter, thinking how nice it would have been to be able to tell the direction of the wind when Vaemyr and I were hunting for the Saber earlier today.

I climb the steps, pushing past the drunken men and women.

I enter through the threshold of the Inn, greeted by the jovial laughter of men and the loud chants of women. One corpulent man, taller than me in stature, sways back and forth with six mugs of ale, three in each hand, raised high above him. Dark liquid swooshes past the rims with each staggering sway.

Looking down at his poor footing, one foot catches the other and he starts falling back towards me. I leap to the side and my hip painfully grinds into the bar's edge. No desire in me wishes to be crushed by a colossal, drunk man. I would rather have a throbbing hip than a crushed body.

Fortunately, I avoid his massive hulk as he crashes to the ground, the ale in the mugs he is clutching spills out onto the wood floor. The dark liquid foams as it pools at my feet and its pleasant aroma quickly sails up to my nostrils, making my mouth water for a good flagon of ale.

A woman pushes past me, appearing sober as she kneels beside the fallen man. The woman throws her head back and howls, imitating a wolf. No, she is indeed drunk. She looks back down at the now snoring drunk and suddenly throws herself onto his stomach, which ripples upon contact.

I cling to the edge with my back to the bar, watching in amusement as the howling woman soon begins to snore harmoniously with the man. At least there are no rotting corpses and orphaned children in the tavern. It won't be long though before they come into the Inns. People are already falling over drunk and howling like wolves.

"Anything that I can do for you, Strider?" I jump at the voice, spinning round on my heel to see Barliman Butterbur, the man who manages the Inn, leaning over the counter with folded arms. A fat, tall and aging man, with light brown hair and beard, and dressed in dull clothes and a yellowed-stained apron.

"Didn't mean to scare ya." Barliman apologizes, shuffling his feet.

"You are fine." I assure him. Barliman chuckles, nodding as he says "Good, good." He pulls his arms apart, lifts a rag into view and wipes the bar counter.

"Anyways, anything I can do for you, valued patron?" I smile widely and answer. "Get me a flagon of ale and a room." Barliman returns my smile and turns from me, disappearing into the backroom. Shortly after, he reappears with a large silver flagon foaming at the brim. Handing me the flagon over the counter, he says "I'll save the whole barrel for ya. Your little corner by the fire is empty as usual and your room is vacant. And I'll come and collect your payment once you're out of your stupor."

Satisfied, I turn and start to head towards the far corner of the Inn where I see my empty table a few feet diagonal of the large flaming hearth.

"Hearth's been recently restocked with large logs, too!" Barliman shouts over the chat and laughter filling the air. That's even more satisfying. I continue towards the table, taking a large swig of the ale.

The dark ale carelessly trickles down the sides of my mouth, teasing my flesh with its coldness. But damn, does it taste good. My sober walk quickly becomes a stagger.

I'm not drunk, just consumed by the warmth the ale provides my aching and tired limbs. So consumed that my foot catches a chair leg in my path. My foot circles round the leg and I fall back! Adrenaline runs through my whole body! I collapse into a seat.

Ha! Ha! I didn't land on the ground! I rise to my feet and charge over to the chair, ready to fling it across the room.

"How dare you trip me?" I yell, slamming my mug onto the table. Did I just get soaked with ale? No matter. I sneer at the chair.

"You missed me, you stupid fool!" The chair remains where it is, motionless.

"Afraid to move, are you? Ha! That's what you get for tripping me, you hideous faggot!" With that, I grab my flagon and drag my feet to my table. I collapse into my seat, laughing heartily, inwardly at myself. I bring the brim to my lips.

Another swig of ale wonderfully burns my throat. My, what two measly sips of ale can do to me.

Suddenly my neck hurts from my slouching form. "Ah." I mutter, dismissing my peculiar sitting position and throwing the rest of the ale down my throat.

My whole body is on fire. I toss the flagon on the table, finally feeling apart of the buoyant people about me. Laughs escape me here and there, making me a deranged lunatic.

"Anofer…mall…" I call out to Barliman, but I can't speak. Place my tongue against my teeth, but the next words that spill out of my mouth are incoherent to even me.

Vaemyr. Vaemyr, Vaemyr, Vaemyr. "What'd I do to you?" I mutter the question haunting me. He stares back at me, mocking me. "You fool. You're not even man enough to claim your throne. Some heir. Pfft. Why would the people of Gondor want you to rule them? You won't lead them any better than Isildur himself! Damn, you can't lead yourself through an Inn! You can't even best a chair! That fear you see in me is you. You're afraid of yourself."

"NO!" I shout back, sitting up and slamming my fists into the table. The flagon jumps into the air and falls onto the table with a _clank_. Ten Vaemyrs suddenly appear all around me, each tilting in strange ways. "I ain't afraid of you, or you, or you, or you." I point at each of them. Vaemyr is ten, eleven. No, he's five. Where did he go?

"I'm not afraid of…myself." I say, pronouncing each word like I'm sober. "What's there to fear? Nothing. Nothing. Not one damn thing."

The warmth of the ale is the comfortable mattress and the blazing yellow flames of the hearth are the plush blankets cocooning me in heat. "Nothing." I say repeatedly as I am cradled to the black of sleep.

Arwen…the only obstacle between her and I is her father, Lord Elrond of Rivendell. He gave me the consent to marry her, but he never truly accepted the idea of his immortal daughter marrying a mortal man. Many other suitors came to her, but she chose me out of them all.

"Freewill." Arwen says "We all have freewill, including me. I choose a mortal life." Freewill, the one thing man cannot lose, no matter what circumstances he is put under.

How long has it been since I had passed out? Minutes, hours, days?

My eyes shoot open. The hearth is ablaze as it was before I had passed out. I find the man and the woman still snoring by the bar and in front of me on my table lays the flagon.

Perhaps another flagon of ale won't hurt. I go to sit up, but make the quick decision against it.

A craving for Old Toby leaves sends my hand to my belt. Taking my dark long pipe from my belt, I stuff the bowl with the brown leaves from my vest pocket and get up with little effort. I walk to the hearth and move the bowl directly into a flame, setting the leaves fuming. Turning, I take three strides to my table and sit and put the long pipe to my lips.

The bitter taste of the leaves swells my lungs with an inhale. Smoke leaves my lips with an exhale. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. A fog hangs over my hooded head.

I stretch out my sore legs and prop my foot against the leg of the table, slouching in posture. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Bitter taste of Old Toby leaves is every man's leisure.

A yawn comes up my throat and I pull the long pipe away to let it escape. Long pipe goes back in my mouth. The Inn's entrance door bursts open and four small children enter. No. No! Did I have to be here when the orphaned children start pouring into the Inns in search of their drunken mothers?

Leaning forward in my seat, I notice their faces. Not childlike, but adult-like. Hobbits. To my relief as well.

The one in front of the group walks up to Barliman and calls for his attention.

I see Barliman go to the counter and search at eyelevel for the Hobbits. The one who called for him, the dark-haired one, calls out again and Barliman looks down and smiles brightly, talking loud enough for me to hear.

"What can I do for you, Mr. uh…"

The Hobbit's mouth hangs agape for a moment.

"Underhill. Mr. Underhill." He answers. Mr. Underhill. Ha! I doubt that's his real name.

I smirk at his attempt to hide his true identity. It wouldn't be bad to bet he says he's from the Shire too.

"Ah, and what brings four little Hobbits to the Prancing Pony Inn? I've got a nice room reserved for Hobbits such as yourselves. Clean and fresh blankets made of fine wool. That's a guarantee."

The dark-haired Hobbit says "That's alright. We're not looking for a room. Have you seen Gandalf? Gandalf the Trader?" A soaked slender young woman with long dark tresses steps beside the little Hobbit, blocking my view. Gandalf. I haven't seen him in awhile. I would certainly like to have a chat with him over Old Toby and ale.

Looking at Barliman, his face contorts as he gazes up at the ceiling beams. "Ah!" Barliman goes, looking back down at the Hobbit still hidden behind the woman.

"An elderly chap, grey robes, pointy hat, long grey beard and hair, right?"

"Yes! That's him! A regular patron here." The woman says as her face lightens up. She must be travelling with the four Hobbits and she must have entered with them.

"Haven't seen him for six weeks." He shakes his head. The woman's jaw drops as disbelief comes over her features. Barliman shakes his head and apologizes. He then excuses himself to his duties.

Having view of the dark-haired Hobbit again, he turns to his other three companions, two slim, blonde Hobbits and another blonde stout one.

The woman gathers in with them as they talk amongst themselves over something, which I assume to be Gandalf's alarming absence. What, I am not certain yet, but I keep my eyes fixated on the five as they take seats at a table several tables diagonal from me.

The dark-haired Hobbit I cannot take my eye off. I believe I am in the right to be suspicious of him.


	3. Chapter 3 The Looming Threat

**Here it is. The 3rd chapter. I hope those of you who read aren't disappionted with Aragorn's childish behavior, the drunk part, I mean. It's my failed attempt at humor. Anyways, his character may be a bit different from the movies. Hopefully he's not different, because some readers got the gyst "I" is not Aragorn. Also, with Vaemyr. His position in the story will be a bit fuzzy for quite awhile. Please, though. Enjoy this chapter. You guys get to find out the woman's name;).**

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**Chapter 3 **_**The Looming Threat**_

Keeping my eyes on them, I pull my hood down further and inhale the Old Toby, enjoying the bitterness that swells my lungs. The woman sitting at the head of the table doesn't touch the mug of ale in front of her.

Silent tears roll down her cheeks as one of the slender blonde Hobbits leans over the table, speaking to her in a hushed tone. Perhaps comforting her. Sitting diagonal from the woman is the fat Hobbit clinging to his mug of ale and nibbling on a small chunk of cheese.

Next to the fat one is "Mr. Underhill", who shifts in his seat and glances over his shoulder.

I follow his gaze and see that he is staring at the Inn's entrance. Anxious for Gandalf's appearance, no doubt. I can't say I'm not anxious to see him, too.

I turn my gaze back towards the five. Fatty and Underhill are drying, but still saturated. Both of them have dark cloaks fastened about their shoulders.

The two slender Hobbits sit opposite of them huddled together with a pale green cloak wrapped about both of them. As for the woman, she was still soaked and her turquoise dress was stained with mud and grass.

One of the slender Hobbits shrugs the cloak off his shoulders and rises from the chair holding his mug. He says something which I fail to hear over the screeching laughter of drunkards. Mr. Underhill nods and the slender one scampers off to the bar.

When will they take notice of me? A hooded man in the corner with a cloud of smoke hanging over his head staring at them.

As if on queue, Fatty takes a bite of his cheese and leans towards Mr. Underhill, muttering something as he nods in my direction. Mr. Underhill looks at me out of the corners of his eyes, trying to be discrete. The woman and the Hobbit still talking with her don't take notice of me.

Mr. Underhill turns his torso and calls for Barliman several times. Barliman finally hears him and comes over, leaning down to Mr. Underhill's stature. They exchange some words, and Barliman's gaze drifts over to me several times. Barliman then leaves the table and walks back to the bar.

Slender Hobbit pulls a handkerchief from his yellow vest pocket and offers it to the woman. She takes it with a nod and wipes the tears from her eyes.

"Yes! And right over there is my distant cousin, Frodo Baggins from Bag End in the Shire!" The Hobbit at the bar turns and points to Mr. Underhill.

"No!" Mr. Underhill who is really Frodo Baggins, is on his feet and running towards him. "What are you doing?" Frodo dodges tables and people.

My muscles tense and I sit up when Frodo disappears into the crowd surrounding the bar. What is he doing? He obviously wanted to hide who he was. I sigh heavily. Many individuals do not make choices based on logic these days.

The crowd starts to fan out. Many shout "Look at the little children!" and "Whose kids are they?"

I lean over the table. My muscles tighten even more. Something is not right. Mr. Underhill is hiding something and I want a piece of it. Actually…the whole thing would suffice. My heart pounds against my ribs…there's a certain…power, no force that makes it beat like the frantic buck that I had killed. I want it. Blood runs hot in my veins and only intensifies my need for it.

The crowd disperses more and Frodo comes into full view.

He stumbles back, stepping on a man's foot. The man quickly pulls his foot from beneath Frodo's and Frodo falls back. As he falls, from his pocket slips a gold blur that spins in the air. My long pipe falls from my agape mouth. My blood is on fire, my skin is fuming. Heart racing, lungs burning. I want mine!

Frodo's back hits the ground and his hands shoots up to catch the gold ring. The band slips onto his index finger in the blink of an eye and he's…he's gone! Disappeared and nowhere to be seen! My heart stops its rapid beating and my body is slicked with cold sweat. What just happened?

The drunkards about the bar are taken aback, even in their drunken state and begin to question amongst themselves. "Where did he go?" "What happened?" "Did you see that?"

Indeed, those are rightful questions to ask, and I ask myself them. I do not know where he went. Indeed I saw the gold band slip onto his finger. I saw him disappear. What happened…well, I am not quite sure. However, it frightens me that a minute, irrelevant gold ring could draw my heart to an unimaginable evil and could grant a mortal such a power as to disappear.

I must find him. If and when I do, I'll drag him up to my room. Hopefully he won't create too much of an attraction. Then I have got to get him out of here…why am I planning this? I could just leave and go to The Sleeping Giant Inn.

Gandalf…Gandalf! I fumble with my belt and find the letter.

Gandalf had visited me several weeks ago here and gave me the letter with his seal, a small grey ink circle, closing it. He was very brief with his visit, saying he could only stay a moment. He had handed me the letter and left without another word. I was going to open and read it, but Vaemyr came in just as Gandalf left and hauled me out the door for patrolling. I had put the letter in my belt with the intention of reading it later, but I have forgotten.

Nimbly, I rip the seal open and unfold it, reading the short paragraph as quick as I can.

_ Aragorn, _

_ Several individuals will come into the Prancing Pony several weeks from now. One by the name of Frodo Baggins will have the one ring, the Dark Lord Sauron's one ring on his person. They will be in danger, no doubt. Please, as my friend, take them to Rivendell. Keep them safe. If you do this, I'll be in your debt._

_ Gandalf the Trader_

My eyes shoot up and I see Frodo Baggins hidden beneath a table, panting for air. Now I know why I have to get him out of here. I'm sure Sauron knows of the ring and sent out his agents, the Nazgul, to hunt him down.

Crumpling the letter in one hand, I take long strides towards him. Pushing the letter into my belt, I creep up from behind and spare him no time to catch his breath. There is no time with the one ring in his pocket!

I reach out and clench his shoulder. He gasps as I yank his tiny form from beneath the table.

Quickly, I turn and clasp his mouth with my other hand to muffle his screams. I half-drag, half-lift him to the stairs leading to the bedrooms, trying to stick to the far shadows of the large room as much as possible past tables and drunks. Frodo kicks my legs and claws at my hand over his mouth.

For a moment, I tolerate this, but his persistent clawing rips away the final layer of skin and blood starts to seep from the scratches. I give his shoulder a hard squeeze and lean towards his pointed ear, threatening him in a low whisper.

"Make much more of a fuss and I'll hand you over to the Black Riders." The threat seems to work. Frodo falls limp in my grasp and obligingly walks with me the rest of the way to the stairs.

Once at the stairs, I turn him round to face me and push him against the wooden wall panels. Frodo, also known as "Mr. Underhill", is quite the reckless and might I say careless Hobbit.

"You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill." I mock as I pull him from the wall and push him up the stairs. He trips over stair after stair as we ascend up two flights.

"Come on, pick up your feet." Pestered and irritated, I clasp his shoulder and pull him to his feet. He gasps in pain as we continue down the dim candlelit hallway. We turn the corner and I rush us to the last door on the left.

Reaching the door, I unlatch it and push Frodo into the room. He lands on his hands and knees near the hearth. I turn and close the door.

"What do you want?" Frodo squeaks. I turn to him and see his terrified ice blue eyes.

"A little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry." I answer, making my way towards the window. On the sill lie five lit candles that need to be put out. No need to draw the Nazgul's attention directly to us.

"I carry nothing." He blurts out.

"Indeed." I sarcastically retort. Stopping at the sill, I lick my index and thumb and put out the flames.

"Who are you?"

Putting out the last flame, I smirk and turn to him.

"Are you frightened?"

"I won't lie anymore as long as you tell me who you are."

I can't help the chuckle that escapes my throat. "I'll tell you who I am as soon as you understand what you carry."

"I do understand what I carry!" Frodo defends.

"No you don't." I turn from him and draw near the window, peering through the frosted glass in search of the Nazgul. It won't be long before they track the ring here. "I can remain unseen if I wish so, but to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."

A clap of thunder shoots across the sky, briefly lighting up the road out the window. The rain pelts against the roof of the Inn.

"Who are you?" Frodo persists. I throw off my hood and turn to him, allowing him to see my face.

"You're not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you. Did you encounter them at all?"

"Who?"

"Who?" I scorn. "I thought we agreed that if you don't lie to me, Mr. Underhill, then I would tell you who I am."

"We didn't agree. I proposed the deal."

"Did you encounter them?" I repeat in a hoarse whisper, approaching Frodo and leaning to his height. He shakily nods.

"When?"

"Several times."

"When was the last encounter?"

"This night." Oh no. There's no doubt that they'll be here soon enough, when though, that's hard to say.

"Where?" I push further for more detail.

"At River Withywindle." If that's the case, then perhaps there is an hour or two.

The door bursts open and candlelight from the hall spills into the room. I draw my sword with a metallic ring and step in front of Frodo.

"Alright, put 'em up or I'll have you, old shanks!" Fatty shouts, holding up his fists and bending at the knees, poised to throw a punch at me. Behind him are the two slender Hobbits, one holding a candle stick and the other a small stool, and the woman, an axe in her raised hand.

I ease my grip on the black hilt and step aside, revealing Frodo.

"You have a stout heart." I sheathe my blade. "That won't save you, though." The four at the door remain in their poised positions, but Fatty's soft green eyes drift towards Frodo.

Turning from them, I approach Frodo as I say "You can no longer wait for the wizard, Mr. Frodo. They're coming."

"Who?" Fatty asks.

"Don't play ignorant." I mimic his tone and glance at Fatty who purses his thin lips and lowers his fists, straightening his legs. Fatty better not get on my nerves or I may reconsider the threat I gave Mr. Frodo. Instead I would hand Fatty over to the Nazgul. Of course, I would not really do that, but it's dreadfully tempting.

The three behind him follow his lead, lowering their pathetic weapons at their sides.

"Come." I urge, turning from him and walking past the Hobbits and woman.

Leading them out of the room, round the corner and down the stairs, we leave the Prancing Pony. If we stay at the Inn, then we will be wide open. People continuously going in and out, things of the sort would draw the Nazgul's attention here. Across from the Inn hidden behind the street lined with homes and stores are some abandoned houses.

Sometimes instead of staying at the Inn, I make my stay at an abandoned house. It's more peaceful and quiet. Also, the house is decent enough because it is hidden between the Blacksmith's and a Bakery shop down the alley. In the second level of the house is a large window that overlooks the main gate. I'll be hidden from the Nazgul if they come while we're still here.

The harsh raindrops have died down to a light drizzle, but a clap of thunder lights up the empty street. Most of everyone is in their homes, having dinner and going to bed.

I make my way down the stairs and come to the curb. Feeling no lingering presence of the Hobbits and woman, I gaze over my shoulder to find them standing motionless at the threshold of the Inn.

The five stare at me. Fatty's brow furrows and he suddenly turns back to the Inn.

"Come on, back inside." He says. The woman is the first to turn, following the two slender Hobbits.

"Don't trust me, do you?" I ask, frowning as I lean back in the rain, letting my soaked strands fall out of my face to show my feigned hurt.

"I think we have all the proper reason not to trust you." The taller of the slender Hobbits voices their thought.

"I'm offended. Here I stand in the rain offering a nice dry bed, free of cost, a way to hide the lot of you from the Black Riders that are sure to come. And you turn your backs on me and say there is no 'proper reason to trust me'."

Fatty and the woman keep their backs to me and the two slender Hobbits maintain their hard expressions, but lowering my gaze, Frodo jumps down the three steps and comes to my side in the drizzling rain.

"You four can go back in and be wide open to the Black Riders, or you come with me." Frodo reasons. Fatty is first to turn, walking down the steps and joining Frodo. The other three do not budge for a second, but the woman turns and walks down the steps. As she reaches Fatty's side, the two slender Hobbits soon join us.

"That's better." I state, turning and leading them across the muddy street to the other curb. We walk through the dim alleyway and to the front door of the abandoned house directly behind the Bakery.

I open it and usher them inside. Frodo walks in first, followed by Sam, the two slender Hobbits, and then the woman who keeps her gaze lowered.

"Chin up." I tell her. She stops and shoots me a nasty look past her shoulder. "What a wonderful compliment. Thank you." I say to her, chuckling afterwards.

She shakes her head and walks in, joining the four at the stairwell. Now, thieves are not uncommon in Bree. I have rigged the front and back door with a series of chains and latches. After chaining and latching the front door like I'm trying to keep some fearsome dragon out, I guide them up the dark creaking stairs with little comment. Frodo first, Fatty, followed by the two slender Hobbits, the woman, and finally me.

As we make our way up the steps, each one creaking from years of dust buildup, Frodo asks "How is this bed that you speak of?"

"Well, it's much more comfortable than lying in the mud, I'll tell you that much." I reply. We come to the upper bedroom where my large bed is, the yellowed sheets still dry and clean. Next to the window is my wood chair, just as dusty as the last night I stayed here. The familiar smell of mildew reaches my nostrils. The woman sneezes, the dust in the air flying about her head.

"We're sleeping here?" Fatty asks, nodding at the bed.

"I did say much more comfortable than lying in the mud, didn't I?" I ask, turning to him. Silence is my response.

"Well, here." I say, walking to the bed and lowering myself onto my stomach. Beneath the bed is a white basin that I sometimes use to clean myself. Pulling it from beneath the bed, I stand and walk to the window, unlatch the window bolt and open it. I stick the basin out and let rainwater fill the basin. Slowly but surely, the basin fills with fresh clean rainwater and once it spills past the brim, I pull the basin back in and latch the bolt.

Turning, I walk over and hand the basin to Frodo who accepts it with open arms. "Wash up before you go to bed. Those sheets are clean and it is pain to wash them."

"Indeed." Frodo mimics me, which I must admit earns a smile from me. I walk to the chair and sit in it, keeping my gaze fixated on the main gate.

The water rushes in and out of the basin and I hear the rustling of clothes being taken off and being put back on.

"What?" The woman asks in annoyance. I turn my gaze to see that her outer dress is bunched at her hips and covering her legs is a thin white under dress, no less stained than her outer garment.

"I'm wearing an under dress." I glance at the Hobbits. One of the slender Hobbits nods. She pulls the dress over her head and tosses it carelessly in the corner. Joining the four Hobbits, she kneels at the basin with them.

It takes some time, but once they finish washing up, I urge them to sleep. "You may need your sleep." At first, they all look at each other, trying to figure out how to sleep. Fatty situates them nicely, putting him along with Frodo and the two slender Hobbits at the head of the bed and placing the woman sideways at the foot.

They all settle in, pulling sheets over their shivering bodies. A shiver runs down my spine. I untie my sword from my belt and bring the hilt close to my chest, keeping my gaze on the main gate. The Nazgul could come barreling through it at any moment.

"You never told us who you are." Frodo draws me out of trance. I spare him not a glance and reply "Indeed. You earn my name, too. Just refer to me as Strider."

"My name is Frodo Baggins, from the Shire, which…I'm sure you know." I smirk and look at him. He continues "This Samwise Gamgee, my gardener." He motions to Fatty who nods his head. Frodo motions to the woman at the foot of the bed. "This is Benthe, a friend of ours from Archet, Bree who happened to be visiting at the wrong time." She glances at me with hooded eyes and nods. Finally Frodo points to the slender Hobbits next to him. "This one is Meriadoc Brandybuck and the one next to him is Peregrin Took."

"You can call me Merry." Meriadoc adds. "And you can call me Pippin." Peregrin says with a bright smile lightening up his jovial features. I nod to all of them in respect and say "A pleasure to finally meet all of you formally."

"Likewise." Pippin says, still maintaining his bright smile. I must say, I give him credit for keeping a smile in the face of almost certain death.

Soon they all fall asleep, snoring softly.

The window is frosted and I can just barely make out a man staggering out of the yellow light of the Prancing Pony and into the middle of the street. The rain starts to pick up again, pelting against the roof of the abandoned house. Two claps of thunder light up the street, resonating throughout the old walls. At least the rain can't make it past the roof. We are safe and dry.

If the Nazgul come while we are still here, then we'll just have to wait them out.

My eyes subconsciously drift over to the five asleep in my bed. Fatty, whose name really is Samwise Gamgee, turns to his side.

A pang of guilt pierces me. I shouldn't have referred to him as Fatty. At least I didn't voice the wretched nickname.

Mindlessly, I look at my hand that had covered Frodo's mouth to see blood crusted over the scratches. Well, it'll heal. It doesn't hurt.

Suddenly a yawn escapes my mouth. I am reminded of how tired I am. Vaemyr's frightened eyes, the dead white buck, dragging five individuals to the abandoned house I often stay in. All of these things weigh my eyelids shut.


	4. Chapter 4 Until Dawn

**Here's the fourth chapter! Several twists here and there, but still the same end! Enjoy! ;)**

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**Chapter 4**_** Until Dawn **_

Like a steady, beating drum, thunder rumbles across the sky, providing flashes of light. Raindrop after raindrop pelts the frosted window and even small hail continuously clinks against the glass.

Soothing, lulling, and it carries me further into the black of sleep. It's dark. My eyes are shut.

I'm asleep! I can't be asleep, not now!

I fight to open my eyes, but I am paralyzed. With energy coursing through my muscles, I try to conjure movement of my eyelids, legs, arms, fingers, even toes. Yet I am paralyzed within the abyss of sleep. I must awake! I must be awake! The Nazgul! They'll be here any minute, any minute, any minute!

It seems eternal, but I win. I force my eyes open and blink several times to rid them of their dryness.

The five are still sound asleep. Turning my head, I peer out the clouded glass.

The staggering man in the street continues his slow, awkward advance towards the main gate. The warm yellow glow still emanates brightly from the windows and the open door of the Inn across the street. I must have not been out long. Fortunately. Second time in a row too. My luck is rolling nicely today, of course it usually does for me. Rarely do I find myself in a bout of bad luck.

Someone starts to pant in their sleep. Turning my gaze to the five, I see Benthe's chest quickly rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall. She turns to her side and back onto her back. Her slender arms fly over her head. The thin sheet covering her she kicks off her body. A small groan escapes her parted lips.

She must be having a nightmare. I start to peer out the window, but Benthe's frightened eyes shoot open and they fall on me.

I lock my gaze with hers. Her cocoa brown eyes harden, but as her rapid pants start to slow, they soften.

I nod my head with a small smile to silently assure her that she's safe from the Nazgul, from the thunder, from the rain. She brings her parted lips together, heaves a breath through her nostrils, and nods in return.

Her gaze drifts towards the clouded window without a word. I also turn my eyes to peer down into the murky street and find myself engrossed in the drunken man still taking his miniscule staggering steps towards the main gate. Forcing my eyes from the drunken man, I scan the road down to the main gate. Cellyn's nowhere in sight. He must have retreated to his little room and absorbed himself in his ale.

I look to the drunken man again and study his every step. Each stagger, each sway. One filthy shoe in front of the other. Unexpectedly, he falls facedown in the mud.

His sprawled form lies in the empty street for moments too long, but he slowly pulls his arms beneath his body and tries to lift himself. Failing miserably, he slumps back to the ground.

Again he tries to get back up moments after, pulling his arms beneath his chest and lifting himself from the ground several inches. He slumps back to the ground and sprawls out his limbs, not moving for what seems awhile.

For a third time, he attempts to lift his miserable body from the ground. He pulls his arms beneath him and pushes himself up further than the past two attempts. Pulling his feet beneath his body, he slowly stands and staggers several steps back, almost toppling over. He regains his balance however and seems to stare absentmindedly at the main gate.

The rain picks up more and more, now coming down in a torrential rainfall. Clap after clap of thunder strikes the earth, flashing light into the muddy streets every several seconds. Rain rolls off the roof of the abandoned house and cascades down the window in several slim waterfalls.

Chills run throughout my entire body. I grab the hem of my cloak with one hand and pull it tighter about me and clutch the hilt of my blade closer to my chest.

About another hour or so and then I should get them up and moving. With each step, the man draws closer yet to the main gate, only yards from it now.

Cellyn appears from the black of his room and opens the upper slot to the main gate. I suppose he has not absorbed himself in too much ale.

He instantly stumbles back, though. The gate quickly unhinges and falls forward, crushing Cellyn beneath it in the mud. What happened? All I can do is gawk at the scene before me.

Then I hear it.

I am glued with fear as the constant beat of horses' hooves disrupts the steady beat of the thunder. _Pound, pound, pound._ The horses' pounding of hooves resonates in my ears and it gets louder with each bound the horses take.

Suddenly one black horse appears past the frame of the main gate and on its armored back is…is the Nazgul. One after the other, five of the nine Black riders rush into Bree. In their path is the drunken man. The first horse mows him over with little care. The second horse comes along and crushes his ribs and belly. The third horse rips open his stomach. Blood and innards pour past his ripped skin and into the mud. The fourth horse crushes his legs as it jumps to avoid the slippery pile of grounded flesh and innards. The fifth horse is halted to a stop with a pull of its reigns. White saliva drips from its mouth as it circles the dead drunk on the command of its shredded black robed rider. His head is the only intact part of his body.

In several claps of thunder, I see the rider draw his dull blade from his hip and turn the tip downwards. He raises his arm and with one thrust, pierces the skull with the tip of his blade right between his eyes. Blood squirts and mixes with the mud as the eyes pop from their sockets and the bone caves inwards towards the blade.

The black rider twists the blade several times, grinding the bone and flesh to mash. He then pulls his blade from the mutilated head and sheathes it, turning his horse back round and joining the other riders at the Prancing Pony Inn. They all dismount and disappear into the yellow glow.

Screams fill the air. Crimson blood splatters onto the few windows of the Inn and I see innards and limbs and heads fly out the door and pile into the street one after another. My breath catches in my lungs as I take in the carnage before me. Evil, pure evil. That's all I can say.

The soft yellow glow quickly darkens in the Inn. All is silent. No sounds, not a scream. I tense in my seat and press my forehead against the cold glass, struggling to see in the persistent dark. People start piling into the street from their homes and shops, peering at the bloodbath before them. Women shriek in horror and men pinch their noses.

Nonhuman earsplitting shrieks pierce the silence, coming from within the Inn. The people hear this and take off in any direction, away from the Nazgul.

"Who are they?" Frodo asks. For a moment, I remain silent, unable to tear my eyes from the five that exit the Inn in a single file line. Two of them mount their horses and ride off into the street, while the other three search house after house and shop after shop, killing whomever went to hide there. Scream after scream fills the air, cut short by their blades.

"Who are they?" Frodo persists. I tear my eyes from the awful sight and look to him. Him, Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Benthe sit upright in bed, fear freshly residing in their faces. I look him straight in the eyes. Taking a deep breath, I begin.

"They were once men. Great Kings of Men. Then Sauron the deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgul, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

Frodo winces and withdraws to the covers.

Their shrieks fill the air. Benthe rises from the bed and kneels at the low sill, pressing her forehead against the glass, peering down. Her eyes drift from the main gate to the unending black of the street.

"Are they calling out to something?" Sam asks.

"They're calling out to the ring." I reply, looking at him.

"Where did they go?" She asks, turning her gaze to me.

I go to look out the window, but a shriek fills the air close by. Another shriek, louder and more deafening. Her eyes grow wide again and I'm sure my expression mirrors hers.

They've found us! Benthe quickly stands and stumbles back, falling onto the bed. I see the Hobbits also know that we've been discovered by their frozen faces and tense bodies. I have to get us out of here!

Quickly turning, I press my forehead against the frozen glass to see my own horror unraveling before me. An armored black horse rounds the left corner of the house with a hooded Nazgul upon his back. He pulls back on the horse's reigns, halting it directly in front of the threshold.

My hand rises to the five on my bed. They await my signal to flee. Once he starts fooling with the door, that's when we take flight. We'll run out the other door and into the Chetwood. If my luck rolls well from here on out, I'll live to see dawn without blood on my hands.

He dismounts his horse and draws his sword, approaching the front door with slow steps. With one hand, he reaches out and begins to push on the wood, trying to open it.

"Go." I say, balling my raised hand into a tight fist. We jump from our spots, grabbing our supplies and packs. No time to attach my sword! I slide to my belly and reach beneath my bed for a pack of short swords that had I bought for Gandalf. He had asked me to get them to him, but I have also forgotten this.

Grabbing it, I jump to my feet.

We are all rushing clumsily down the stairs. Frodo loses his footing and tumbles down. Pippin and Merry entangle themselves in each other's limbs and roll down behind Frodo. My own clumsy feet catch one another and I fall forward, crashing into Benthe. Our limbs entangle and we both barrel down the stairs, catching Sam in the path.

Frodo is first to land at the bottom of the stairwell. Pippin and Merry fall next to him and Benthe, Sam, and I fall atop them.

"Get off me, get off!" Benthe shouts, slapping my head, shoulders, and back.

"Sorry! Sorry!" I repeat, realizing that my body is crushing hers. I pull myself off her, whilst shielding myself from her flailing limbs. Boy, for being a woman, her slaps hurt!

As we rise to our feet, gather our supplies and regain our bearings in haste, the front door rattles and shakes. Shrieks from the furious Nazgul fills the air amidst the pounding thunder and rain.

"Where do we go?" Pippin cries out.

"This way!" I urge, running to the back door and nervously unlatching and unchaining it.

"Hurry!" Merry shouts. The five crowd about me, pushing me against the wood and giving me little room to undo the rest of the chains and latches.

"Give me room!" I demand. Two pairs of small hands fly in with mine and begin to help me. Not looking to see which two Hobbits are helping, I focus and force my shaky hands to unlatch the last latch.

There's a scream and I glance over my shoulder to see that the Nazgul has broken through, now advancing upon us with his blade drawn in one hand and the other outstretched. I wedge the door open and push the five out in a heap, not caring who went first and who went last.

There, there's no time for me to get out! My stomach churns as I quickly draw my blade and spin on my heels to face the Nazgul. I block the Nazgul's fast strike for me head. The clashing of blades quakes throughout my arms. He pulls away and brings the blade down on mine again in a blur.

Slowly he begins to overpower me. My arms shake. I am tired, sore, and weak. Perhaps Benthe will help me and bring her axe. The edge of my blade inches closer and closer. Benthe, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Sam, someone help! No appearance from any of them.

Just as my blade cuts into my forehead, my body finds a renewed energy.

With all the strength I have, I push the Nazgul's blade off of mine, forcing his massive hulk to stumble back. I don't stand on ceremony. Taking the opportunity, I turn and dart out the door, sword in one hand and sheathe in the other.

The cool blood of my wound slips down my skin as I run for the forest. Where the five went, hopefully into the forest. The five! Frodo! The Ring! Damn!

I stop in my tracks and spin around on my heels, scanning the lined houses on one side, the barren land in front and behind, and the wall of trees on the other side. To my relief, I find Benthe herding the four into the forest. She turns and notices me. A smile crosses her lips, but quickly fades as she shouts "Look out!"

Turning round, I only see the flying hooves of a black horse rearing up over me. I leap out of the way and into the mud. I take no time to examine how close to death I had just come too.

Scrambling to my feet, I hastily make for the forest.

Entering the trees, I leap and dance for my life.

"Run! Run!" I shout. I jump over roots and stumps, logs and low bushes blocking my path. I hear Frodo and Sam running alongside me. Ahead of me I see Benthe's bouncing tresses and Merry and Pippin sprinting in front of her. I dare not look behind me, lest I stumble and fall. Along the way, I sheathe my sword and tie it to my belt.

I can hear him, though. The pounding of hooves and the Nazgul's ferocious shrieks not too far off. My body feels nimble and light, like a feather on a hawk's wing. Leap after leap, stride after stride. The cold air glazes my lips and swells my lungs. My hot breath comes out in white mist. I breathe the cold air in and out smoothly with little effort. My legs weigh nothing. I continue to dance about, avoiding obstacles that would leave me vulnerable…

After what seems hours of running, my lungs burn and swell, allowing little air in. My legs are boulders and I am staggering through the forest. My foot catches a stump and I almost fall, but I reach out, regain my balance against tree trunk, and resume running. Small breaths go in and out, in and out, in and out, doing little good for my dry mouth.

Frodo and Sam begin to fade behind me and Benthe starts to slow up to match Merry and Pippin's slowed pace. We can't keep running forever! Another shriek fills the dark forest. He draws closer with each bound his horse takes.

"Hide!" I order. Benthe grabs Merry and Pippin and tugs them into a fallen tree trunk, disappearing into the gaping black hole. I jump into some bushes just opposite of them. Huddling, I slow my rapid breathing as best I can and fall silent. Where's Frodo and Sam?

Frodo stops in front of my bush and I yank him into it. He lets out a surprised yelp. No sooner I draw him into my tight embrace, Sam stops in front of the gaping dark hole of the fallen tree trunk.

"Frodo?" He whispers hoarsely. My hand flies over Frodo's mouth, muffling his response.

"Not a word." I whisper in his ear. Just then three pairs of hands pull Sam into the darkness. I feel Frodo's head nod as he settles into my chest.

Another shriek sounds directly behind me. Frodo's frame instantly tenses and he recoils further into my embrace. I myself shrink back into the bushes as I hear the Nazgul dismount his horse. The horse lets out an unearthly neigh riddled with death.

Through a small opening in the leaves of the bushes, I see the rider step out in front of the gaping hole where Benthe, Merry, Pippin, and Sam are. Slowly he leans forward towards the trunk, inching closer towards the darkness concealing the four.

Clinging to Frodo, I watch helplessly as the Nazgul inches his head into the hole. "No." I mouth silently. No. No. No. This isn't happening! This can't be happening! The Nazgul's armored hand flies to his hilt and he begins drawing the cursed blade.

His sword is halfway out of its sheathe when a shriek sounds in the distance. For a moment, the Nazgul lingers near the entrance, as if debating whether he should obey the shriek to retreat or not. Another shriek echoes through the dark forest.

He straightens his back, sheathing his blade. Turning, he approaches his horse and mounts the beast and rides off into the night.

For hours, all six of us remain motionless until dawn breaks. The rain fades to a light drizzle once again and the thunder ceases.

Once we are sure the Nazgul are gone, we all emerge from our hiding spots and gather round to absorb what just happened and what to do next.

"Come, let's continue." I say. I turn and start to walk through the forest.

"Where are you taking us?" Sam asks.

"Into the wild."


	5. Chapter 5 Chance Encounter

**Here's the fifth chapter. It goes by kind of quick, but I hope u like it!:)**

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**Chapter 5 **_**Chance Encounter**_

The rain has stopped, but the dark heavy clouds obscure any sunlight shining this morning. My black bow and quiver of arrows along with the pack of short swords are flung over my shoulder and secured between my chest. My sword lies in its sheathe on my left hip and I rest my hand on the hilt. No food, though. My stomach rumbles at the mere thought of it.

I continue to lead the five through Chetwood. The forest floor is moist and the air is heavy with morning dew. Twigs snap beneath my dusty leather boots. I walk past myriad, towering upright and fallen trees. On the dark bark of the sturdy trees grows evergreen moss, swathing the trunks like a shredded veil.

Raising my eyes above me, I see that an uprooted tree has fallen part way and entangled with a neighboring tree opposite of it. My free hand comes to rest on the slanted trunk covered with soggy moss, cold to touch. I stop in my steps.

I sniff the air through my nostrils, enjoying the pleasant whiff of dew. Glancing past my shoulder, I see that the five are keeping pace with me. Frodo in front, Merry to his right and Pippin to his left, followed by Benthe and Sam who walk alongside each other.

My hand falls to my side as I turn and start moving my tired feet, doing my best to keep an ample gait.

"How do you know we can trust him?" Merry quietly asks. Is he trying to be discrete or is he not aware I can hear him? My eyes flicker to look at him, but I restrain myself. I want to see where he's going with this. Passing through two trees, I balance myself by placing my hand against the moss-covered trunk.

"How do we know this 'Strider' is a friend of Gandalf's?" He continues.

Frodo replies "I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer…and feel fouler."

"He's foul enough." Merry scoffs. I go to cast him a look, but hold firm, keeping my eyes set ahead of me. I liked it better when Merry said he simply did not trust me. Now he's calling me foul. Well, what can I do about it? It is what it is.

"We have no choice but to trust him." Frodo says.

"Where's he leading us?" Sam asks. I slightly cast my head to the side and reply "To Rivendell, Master Gamgee." Looking back to the road, I continue "To the House of Elrond."

"Did you hear that? Rivendell." Pippin goes. "We're going to see the Elves."

We continue to make our way for some time. Perhaps an hour, maybe two have gone by.

We come to a clearing in the forest and are greeted by the crispy cold morning breeze. Pulling my hood up, I walk into the open. I feel like…like I'm being watched.

My eyes scan the trees and bushes on all sides. I see no one and nothing that could be watching us. Not a movement in the bushes and not a sound. We are a quarter way through the clearing. Still three-fourths of it to go.

I cannot shake the feeling of someone's eyes weighing down on me, however. For sanity's sake, I scan the trees and the bushes, even the few sparse bushes dotting the clearing as I move along and find nothing. I can just feel those eyes burning into my back.

"Come on, quicker." I urge the five as I pick up my pace, taking long strides. _Snap, snap, snap_. Could I be any louder? Twigs snap beneath my feet. I try to be quieter in my steps, but when I begin to tiptoe across moist dirt, the five behind me sound like a herd of Oliphants stomping their way through the clearing.

Well, no matter the noise we make, it's irrelevant either way. Whatever is watching us already knows where we are and we are almost to the other side of the clearing.

The high trees invite me closer, offering safety, concealment, security. So close. Just a couple of more steps.

Out of the brush jumps a man, rather petite in stature, clad in ragged furs. The five gasp and before I know what's happening, he brings his dagger to my throat and hisses "Alright, hand over your valuables, or I will gut you like a fish."

A thief. A petty little thief. I smirk at his miserable attempt to rob me. "You alone?" I ask, an amused smile creeping onto my lips.

"N-no." He stutters, pressing the dagger further into my throat, but my smile doesn't leave. Liar. He is alone. He doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.

With deft movements I grab his wrist and his turn his knife round on him. He tries to overcome my strength, but fails.

"Care to hand over your valuables?" I mimic him. He nods his head quickly and stammers "I-I got me a po-pony and some food. It's all yours, all yours! Please, don't hurt me! I don't want to die!"

I pretend to contemplate his offer, though I've already accepted it. We need food and a pony could save a great deal of burdensome weight.

"What's the pony's name?" Pippin asks.

"Pippin." Merry quiets him.

"Bi-Bill." The thief squeaks.

"Tell you what." I cut in. "You let me have this knife." I move the knife a bit, examining the dull blade. "You let all of us have the pony, food, everything you have and you get your life back." Without another word, the thief turns and runs off into the forest.

"Easy enough." Pippin says, coming to my side.

"You do not know how easy. Come, let's find the pony. It must be close by." We walk into the forest and find the pony and supplies not too far off, nestled in a high crevice beneath a large boulder.

"Take everything." I order. Benthe, Merry, Pippin, and Sam gather several packs. Frodo grabs the pots and pans surrounding the thief's small fire. I pull my hood off, put the thief's knife in my belt, and go to examine the pony. Approaching the beige stocky stallion, I rest one hand on his cheek and stroke his muscular neck with the other, occasionally weaving my fingers through his soft white mane.

A decent pony. "Bill." I say, clicking my tongue several times. The pony's large brown eyes flicker up and look at me. He knows his name. A smart pony as well.

"A fine pony." I turn my gaze to see Benthe standing beside me, reaching out and patting his shoulder.

"Indeed." I agree, continuing to probe the palomino. Benthe leaves my side and resumes picking up packs and blankets that the thief left.

"Can we have breakfast?" I halt my strokes at the mention of food. My stomach quivers silently as I stare at the hanging moss past Bill's head.

"A light one." I agree. Pippin scampers off and comes back a moment later with fresh kindling in his arms. He arranges the wood on the small fire and I take a rock to my sword, running the rock down the blade until sparks fly and set the wood on fire.

Sam finds some raw rabbit meat in a burlap sack and cooks it for us in one of the few pans the thief had. I let Frodo have the majority of the rabbit, taking three small chunks of meat for myself. We gather round the small fire and nibble on the little rabbit.

"How much food do we have?" I ask.

"We have some rabbit which we are eating now, some apples, and three empty skins." Sam answers. It's not a lot. I'll have to bag game along the way, since it is six days journey to Rivendell. We can also fill the empty skins from any nearby streams.

Finishing the last bit of rabbit, we pack up our supplies and tie them along with pots and pans onto Bill's saddle. I take two apples for myself to eat along the way.

We travel through the forest and come to the outskirts of Chetwood after an hour of trekking at a constant incline. Eventually, snow starts to become visible on the ground and less and less trees appear, eventually giving way to a nearly flat, snow dusted plain dotted with numerous bushes.

My aching feet scream for a rest, but I keep my pace, pulling on Bill's lead rein who follows with little resistance. The difference between horses and humans is that men need to get off their feet for a while and lie down to rest, while horses and ponies are built to stay on their feet their whole lives, save when they have broken legs. They sleep standing up, ready to flee at the drop of a hat should a predator hunt them in the night.

"You want me to take Bill?" Sam asks. I go to say no, but say nothing when Sam comes up alongside Bill and slips the lead rein from my loose fingers. Well, he can lead the animal now. I rest my hand on my hilt. As we walk, Sam slowly fades behind me.

Another small hill salutes my sore feet. Taking no time to uselessly brace myself, I take one step up it and hear the soft clinking of pots. Stopping, I turn my head and torso to see Merry and Pippin on one side of Bill, taking pots and pans off his saddle. Frodo and Benthe dig into the sacks on Bill's opposite side and Sam starts to wander off, leaning over and picking up sticks.

"Gentlemen, let's continue." I urge. They all stop what they're doing and stare at me.

"What about breakfast?" Pippin asks with a bright smile.

"We already had it." I say. Merry comes to Pippin's side.

"We had one, yes. But what about second breakfast?" Pippin asks. The wind blows his blonde curls about, adding onto his foreign nature. I slowly turn and continue onwards, hearing Benthe say disappointedly "Let's pack everything up."

I hear Merry's quiet voice as he speaks with Pippin. My stomach growls. Perhaps he's as hungry, perhaps hungrier than me. He does eat differently than I do. With no more thinking, I grab the two apples from my vest pockets and slip behind a large bush. Through the leaves, I see Merry and Pippin still talking as the other three continue to pack things up.

"He's never heard of afternoon tea time?" Pippin asks.

"I don't think so, Pippin." Merry replies. They fall silent as the three tie the last of pots to Bill and start to lead him. I toss one apple over the leaves and watch it sail through the air. Merry looks up and catches it with one hand, a smile crossing his lips. He pushes the apple into Pippin's hand and pats him on the shoulder, following Bill and the other three. I toss another one with a quick aim and turn and jog to reappear in front of the five.

They seem to not notice my brief disappearance and we trudge forward out of Chetwood and into the marsh of Midgewater.

The clouds are even heavier and loom lowly overhead. The marsh is made up of small and large bodies of water soaking the grassy lands.

I lead them through the marsh, wading through mud and water. Despite the frost cold weather, MidgeMosquitos swarm about us like bees to honey, finding any open areas of flesh to sting us. They sting me several times on my hands, making them itchier than PolyRash. I walk and fall repeatedly, using my hands to catch myself. It seems I am crawling through the marsh.

"Tell me, why are we walking through Midgewater?" Frodo asks over the constant buzzing of mosquitoes.

"To avoid the Nazgul. They'll be riding all along the East-West road in search of you, daring to draw close to the Ford." I reply.

"What do they eat when they can't get Hobbit?" Merry shouts, slapping a bug on his face.

I suddenly feel a small itch on my earlobe. With my index and thumb, I crush the mosquito and roll it between my fingers. Wiping its guts in the mud, I trudge along, using my hands for balance almost every step of the way. No matter how itchy my ear is, I avoid scratching it. No need to make it swell.

We travel through Midgewater for several more hours until we come to the outskirts of the marsh.

The terrain here is less muddy and smaller, shallower bodies of water run throughout the bushes. When night falls, we find a mostly dry area in comparison to the rest of the marsh.

While Sam and Benthe unload Bill of our supplies, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin scatter out to find the rare dry wood for a fire. I perch myself on a log and keep a watchful eye on the three as they lean over in the grass, inspect sticks, throw some past the shoulders and collect the few dry ones.

We all remain silent, however. I remain silent because perhaps our meal will wander by unaware of me. Perhaps the others are following my lead and keeping their mouths shut.

There's a rustling of grass to my right not too far off. I turn sharply, hand about my hilt, ready to draw the blade. A thicket of waist-high grass shakes. I begin to quietly draw my blade, internally wincing at the slight metallic ring.

In the bright moonlight, a shadow emerges from the thicket of grass. I see the long slender neck, the small head, large ears, and branching extensions coming from either side of its head. A buck. Make a good meal, no doubt.

He steps out into full view and from his shadow I see his thick muscular body. My mouth begins to water for the sweet juicy flesh of him and my stomach rumbles.

He quickly turns his head in my direction and takes off into the marsh. It as if he heard my stomach. I quickly turn to Benthe and order "Stand here and watch the Hobbits. I'll be back." She nods and sets down the saddle she is carrying. As she comes my way, I turn and walk in the direction of the deer.

Once I'm a little ways away from them, I crouch low to the ground and follow the deer's tracks. After several steps I find him grazing with his back to me.

Quietly I draw my bow and an arrow from my quiver. Readying my bow and silently aiming just above the deer's shoulders in the moonlight, I wait for him to raise his head.

He does. I release my arrow and watch it land a direct blow through its neck.

He collapses to the grass. I rise, approach the deer and carefully wedge the arrow from his neck, doing my best not to tear up the tender flesh.

I then heave the creature over my shoulder, walk back to camp, and find the five huddled around the cold wood. Setting the deer down and handing Sam the thief's knife to cut the deer up, I look around and find a decent sized dry rock and start the fire by taking the rock to my blade.

We eat our fills of deer meat and have skin and bones left, which we take its pelt and bury the bones beneath in the mud to prevent scavengers from happening upon us. I take the small antlers for myself and sit down on the log as they settle in their cloaks and blankets and drift off to sleep.

Pulling the hem of my cloak about me, I keep watch with my hand on my hilt. All is silent, save the gentle cold breeze and the few cricket chirps. For a moment, I enjoy the rest. It's good to be off my feet and to be sitting.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see the five sleeping peacefully. Sam sleeps close to Bill who grazes on the grass. Benthe, Merry, and Pippin lie next to each other in a row, with Pippin in the middle and her and Merry on either side. My gaze falls on Frodo, who sleeps opposite of them across the few burning embers of the fire closest to me.

Turning my head back round, I slouch as my eyes start to drift shut. I can't sleep. What am I doing?

I force them back open. A yawn escapes me. My eyes start to shut again and I open them wide and blink several times to keep them open. I must stay up. Perhaps…perhaps I can do something to keep me awake.

My mind runs through my one option. Sing. I start to hum a simple tune and slowly but surely, the tune forms into an utterance of Elvish words. For awhile I sing of an Elfmaiden. It works in keeping me awake.

"Who is she?" I jump at the voice and turn my head and torso sharply round. Frodo leans back on his elbows with a patient look on his face. I don't answer. I thought he was asleep.

"This woman you sing of?" He continues.

"It is the Lay Luthien. The Elfmaiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal." Like Arwen and me. Frodo looks down and then back up at me.

"What happened to her?"

I remain silent for a moment, dwelling on Arwen. "She died." That's Arwen's future. I look away and sigh heavily. Looking back to Frodo, I say "Get some sleep, Frodo. We'll be moving before first light."

Frodo nods and lays down, pulling the blanket up to his chin as his eyes drift shut. I look back in front of me. My mind draws many blanks as I try to avoid thinking of her. She says where there is death there is life. Perhaps, but I hardly believe it.


	6. Chapter 6 Amon Sul

**Hey there! Here's the 6th chapter! Things are slowly building, slowly but surely! Well, enjoy!**

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**Chapter 6 _Amon Sul_**

It is just before dawn and I manage to stay up the whole night, despite the yawns that plague me like my itchy hands and ear. The world about me is silent. Heavy clouds are completely hiding the moon, taking the only source of light away and leaving darkness all about the marsh. The air is no less, if not more,cold than before. My body involuntarily shivers beneath the layers of clothing.

I start to rise from the log, but my sore thighs scream out and drop my weight back down. Complying with my sore muscles, I sit for a moment in silence. I have to get up, though. I can't wait all day.

Placing my hands on my kneecaps, I brace myself and push my weight up off the log. I grunt from the stiffened muscles and awkwardly walk round the log and stop at Frodo's feet.

"Wake up." I whisper. Frodo moans in his sleep and turns to his side.

"Frodo, get up." I say a little louder. Frodo slowly rouses from his sleep and sits up, rubbing his eyes as he asks with a hoarse voice "What time it is?"

"An hour before dawn. Get up, get ready. I want us moving." I walk past Frodo as he gets up from his covers. I stop at Sam's side.

"Up, Sam." I say. Sam rolls onto his back and opens his eyes, blinking them as he asks "Time to go?"

"Yes." I then turn and approach Benthe, Pippin, and Merry. Just as I am about to wake the three with my voice, Frodo interrupts. "Those three are sound sleepers. You'll have to shake them awake."

I turn my gaze to Frodo and nod. "Thank you."

Looking back down at Benthe whose back is to me, I stoop low, grab her upper arm and shake it. "Get up. Time to-" I am abruptly quieted when Benthe's hand flies into my nose! I groan and gingerly caress my burning nose with my hand.

Benthe quickly rolls onto her back and gasps with wide eyes. "I'm…My deepest apologies! I didn't me-"

"Just get the other two up." I say, straightening my legs and turning from her to assess the damage to my nose away from flying fists. Stopping after a couple of strides, I pull my hand away from my nose. I half expected for there to be blood, but there isn't. Just then I hear a squeak and Benthe cries "Pippin!"

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it!" Turning round, I see Benthe cupping her nose over her wincing face. So, she got smacked in the nose too. Poetic justice. She gets to her feet and turns to me. Frodo and Sam burst out in laughter and I catch it. Benthe and Pippin join in.

Once the laughter dies down, we turn to pack our things, put the saddle on Bill and get Merry up and moving.

To my satisfaction, we move out several minutes later and make our way to the edge of Midgewater marsh, filling our three skins with water along the way.

By dawn's first light which is still hidden in the heavy clouds, we leave the marsh and enter into the gradual hilly terrain of Weather Hills. We walk up and down, up and down, up and down myriad hills. What makes the trek more difficult is the wind that blows fiercely here.

As we ascend a steep hill, the moist dirt quickly becomes slick with frost, making it almost impossible to climb. Almost.

I cling to a sturdy tree in the hill with one hand and offer my other hand to Frodo. He clasps it tightly and I pull him past the hilltop. I turn and offer my hand to Pippin, and as he takes it, I pull him past the hilltop. Pippin next, Benthe, and finally Sam. Bill follows Sam, easily going up and down the hills with little trouble.

I go through this process repeatedly, quickly falling into the routine. Up and down, up and down, up and down. We eventually come to flatter lands by nightfall.

I jog past Pippin, Sam and Bill, Benthe, Frodo and Merry and assume the lead.

"We didn't have breakfast today." Merry states.

"We'll find something along the way." I say, keeping my gaze ahead of me. I don't know how I've managed it, but despite the pain in my legs and feet, I'm still standing and walking. Besides, the pain has dulled in comparison to this morning.

A yawn attempts to escape out of my throat, but I push it back down.

Someone screams! I spin round to find Pippin's foot submerged in the dirt!

"Something's got me! Help!" Pippin shouts, screaming as he tries to pull his foot out. I push past Merry and Frodo to get to Pippin. I try to get a hold on Pippin, but Benthe and Sam are blocking me!

"Move!" I shout. Benthe and Sam run several feet from me and I grab Pippin's leg and pull. With the added strength, Pippin's foot becomes free and we fall back in the grass. I quickly sit up and pull the thief's knife from my belt, kneeling over the hole that Pippin's foot was pulled into.

A ball of fur comes into view and I wait no longer. I plunge the knife into the creature's back. It passes with a small wail. Pulling the impaled creature out of the hole with the knife, I hold into view for all eyes to see.

"What is it?" Merry asks.

"A mole." I say, turning the grey-black ball of fur about with the handle, seeing its wet pink nose glisten a little. "Our dinner." I add, turning my gaze to Merry as I hold the animal out for him to take. He hesitates for a second, but Frodo nudges Merry's side with his elbow which sends Merry over to me.

He pulls the mole from the knife and glances down at it with a disgusted look.

We continue along for a bit longer and Amon Sul, the old watchtower in Weather Hills, comes into view past the hill we come, about a mile off. I stop them and stare at the broad, tall, crumbling grey stone fortress. It's a wonder that it still stands to this day, despite the powerful winds. The Annuminas who built it knew how to build it.

"This was once the great watchtower of Amon Sul." I turn my head and torso to them. "We will rest here tonight." We make our way to the tower and I take and tie Bill to a lone tree next to the stairway.

"Take what you need." I order, making my way up the stairs. The five take Bill's whole saddle with them.

I lead them to a ledge on the South side of the tower. They drop Bill's saddle and their packs and collapse against the slanted ceiling, panting heavily. As for myself, I walk to the edge and peer out at the dark world about me. The strong gusts of frost-biting wind blow my hair and gnaw my flesh with chills. It's even colder higher up.

I should have a look around, see if any creature would be better fit than the mole for dinner. Pulling the pack of short swords off my shoulder, I turn and walk to the five still resting. Bending down, I set the pack before the Hobbits' dirty feet and Benthe's dusty boots and pull back the cloth.

"These are for you." I say, taking two short swords in my hands and handing one to Merry and the other to Sam. Frodo and Pippin grab their own and lean back against the wall, examining the short swords with awe.

"I'm going to have a look around." I say as I pick up the empty pack and rise to my feet.

"Stay here." I demand, leaving and flinging the pack over my shoulder.

I make my down the grey stone broken steps and onto the grass where a grazing Bill greets me.

Several hours later, I make slow, wide circles round the tower, keeping a watchful eye for any food and threat. My hand clenches my hilt, ready to pull should anything attack. I open my mouth wide and let a long yawn come out.

My legs suddenly start to hurt again and I find myself with no choice but to sit in the grass. I close my eyes, listening to the gentle cold breeze blow down here.

Strange enough, my shoulders and back start to get sweaty. Unfastening my cloak, I roll it up and tie it about my chest. I then resume listening to the world about me with open eyes. The wind whispers into my itchy ear and runs its fingers through my hair. Grass sways in the wind, dancing with each other in a harmonious rhythm.

The tender wind and the graceful dancing grass lull me into ease. I slowly sway with the grass, coming close and closer to the ground. Closer and closer.

The grass brushes my shoulder as I lay on my side. Rolling onto my back, I stretch out my legs and stare up at the dark heavens. All I want to do is to sleep. Is that too much to ask? A numbing sensation spreads from my thighs to my feet, which I relish in. My face starts to wonderfully burn warm against the chilly wind.

I fold my hands across my stomach and let the dark of night cradle me. The five up in the tower should be fine. They are well hidden from predators and the Nazgul. As long as they sleep and don't make a fire…no. High pitch screeches fill the air!

With a blank mind, I jump to my feet and race for the tower.

My thighs and feet are stinging with ache, but I keep sprinting for the tower. With each stride I take, the shaking tower grows larger and larger until I near the stairs. I see the armored black horses of the Nazgul out of the corners of my eyes. I dart past the tree to find Bill's rien snapped in half, dangling from the branch, and no Bill to be found.

He's dead. I start making my ways up the stairs, but I hear a growling neigh from behind me. Before I take another step, two hard objects crash into my back and push me down on the stairs. I shield my head with my arms, my forearms painfully grinding into the sharp edge of a step.

I cry out in pain as I roll onto my back to see my attacker. A black armored horse foams vehemently at the mouth as he rears up again, his hooves flying about in the air. Squeezing my eyes shut, I silently accept my fate as his hooves come down on me.

I wait for the grinding pain. I wait for my innards to spill out onto the ground. My back is shooting spasms of pain throughout my whole body and the ache in my thighs and feet ceases to the excruciating pain in my arms. The dead drunk whose body was mashed to pieces. I'll end up just like him, mashed up on these steps.

…What stalls death? I force my eyes open to see Bill standing between me and five black horses. Bill launches himself at the horse that attacked me, snapping at the horse's armored shoulders and neck. The horse stumbles back and also tries to bite Bill, but fails to do so.

"Strider! Strider!" Sam's cries for help jolt me to my feet. I turn and climb up the steps accompanied with a sore back, aching arms, and numb legs, leaving Bill to the five horses.

"Strider!" Benthe cries out this time. I come to the ledge and find a smoldering fire that they had set. The supplies are scattered about in messy array. How could I have been so ignorant? I should have known! Sudden terrifying silence comes on overhead.

I grab a burning log from the fire, draw my blade, and run up the second stairwell leading to the top. As I begin to climb, Frodo's pained screams reach my ears and resonate throughout my skull. I come to the last step and see a Nazgul, his sword hovering low above the ground. Frodo's there!

"Here! Here!" I shout to draw his attention, jumping down off the step with my sword drawn back for a strike. The Nazgul quickly withdraws his blade from Frodo's flesh and meets mine with a resounding ring. I pull back and bring my blade against his, pushing him far back to get to Frodo's invisible form.

Pushing off my blade, he stumbles back, providing me the opportunity to place myself between him and Frodo. I do. The Nazgul regains his footing and moves in on me. I fling my sword and torch about, not carrying where I hit.

The Nazgul screeches as it stumbles away from the flying flame. Another Nazgul comes from my left. Our blades clash and clash as I continue to block his attacks. Frodo cries out again. My body is pulsing with so much anger now that I am on fire.

The Nazgul locks his blade with mine. I shout in anger as I thrust the torch beneath our locked blades and into his gut. He shrieks and spins about as his whole body catches fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Benthe, meeting a Nazgul's blade with her one-handed axe. Another Nazgul comes past them and glides towards me. I run and meet him head on, circling my blade round his and bringing our locked swords up over our heads.

He sidesteps and our swords detangle as I stumble past his frame. Pivoting on my heel, I block his strike for my back. All the while, the Nazguls' deafening screeches numb my ears. He lifts his blade and brings it down on my head, but I throw my blade up and block his strike, falling to my knees from the sheer strength of the attack. I go to set his gut ablaze, but he must have seen me set fire to the first one, because he jumps back, his blade leaving mine.

In the blink of an eye, the one that is already on fire bumps into him. The Nazgul screeches as the fire eats at his form. I get to my feet and turn to face a third Nazgul. Two down and three to go. Once again, my blade locks with his and he pulls back and makes a sideways strike, which I duck. I lean in as he finishes his sideways arc and push the torch into his robes.

He spins from me as he catches fire and falls past two pillars and into the black of night. I spin on my heels and see Benthe's axe fly out of her hand. She falls to the ground and begins to scramble away on her back. The Nazgul advances on her, but stops and quickly casts his hooded head in my direction. He begins to back away.

I do not spare him. Lifting the torch, I arc my numb arm back and throw it at him. The torch spins through the air and embeds itself deep into his shadowed face. He drops his sword and screeches as his whole body becomes engulfed in flames. I yell as I charge at him.

He turns and runs through another set of pillars, flickering in the black as he falls to the ground. I turn back round and walk to the middle of the top level, scanning all about me for the last Nazgul.

Seeing him nowhere in sight, I rush to Frodo.

"Strider!" Sam shouts frantically as I join him, Merry, Pippin, and Benthe kneeling at Frodo's side. I see his clothes soaked with blood on his left shoulder.

"Help him, Strider." Sam pleads as I notice and lift the Nazgul's blade from Frodo's side. Anger courses throughout my body as I realize what kind of blade it is.

"He's been stabbed with a Morgul blade." I say through gritted teeth. The blade turns to dust, leaving the hilt in my hands. I throw it down in disgust.

"This is beyond my skill, he needs Elvish medicine." I tell the four as I carefully pick up Frodo who cries out in pain.

"Careful!" Benthe shouts. Ignoring Frodo's meager protests, I run down the steps.

"It's four days to Rivendell! He'll never make it!" Sam shouts from behind me.

"I know." I say. I have Sam, Benthe, Merry, and Pippin pick up Bill's Saddle and their supplies as we make our way down the stairs.

We make it down the stairs to find Bill waiting for us. Benthe and Sam tie the saddle on Bill as we go, jogging away from Amon Sul and east towards Rivendell. I go as fast as I can without shaking Frodo's small frame too much.

As we enter through into a small cluster of trees after an hour, Frodo groans in my arms. I look down at him briefly and in front of me again to watch my steps.

"Hold on, Frodo." I whisper too him. "We're almost to Rivendell." A lie, yes, but I tighten my arm about his shoulders, comforting him. His frail little body weighs nothing in my arms. I feel like I'm carrying a slender pillow. Merry rushes to my side.

"He's fading! He won't last the night!" Merry cries out. I stop in my steps and look down at Frodo. His blue eyes stare wide up at me as a glossy film comes over them. My stomach drops as I set him down, ripping my rolled up cloak from my chest and carefully stuffing it beneath his head. I make him as comfortable as possible, gently easing his head back down onto my cloak.

He's not going to make it. There's nothing I can do but make his passing less…painful.


	7. Chapter 7 Hope on the Horizon

**Here it is. 7th chapt. Thanks to those who reviewed, which includes BrightWatcher and LadyNostarielofMirkwood. Now, back to the story. I have up to chapter 11 written, so these will be coming out at a decent roll.**

**Just got home from a cruise to Alaska. Tons of fun. Do u guys know what breaches are? If you don't, breaches are when whales jump out of the water. Well, in Alaska while doing scenic cruising, there was one Humpback Whale that did eleven half-breaches in a row! The lady who was narrating on the wildlife said "We have never seen so much wildlife on a cruise!" It's true too! I have never seen so many seals, bears, eagles, whales, moose, caribou, mosquitos, and beavers in my life! So awesome! The scenery was just gorgeous and I could go on and on about that, but I won't. Hey, just wanted to let you guys know that half-breaches are just as they sound - it's when a whale jumps halfway out of the water. **

**Well, with no further ado, I present to u chapter 7:)**

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**Chapter 7 _Hope on the Horizon_**

Frodo yelps. His chest lurches upwards.

"What's happening?" Benthe rushes to my side and kneels, reaching out to Frodo with shaky hands.

"He's passing into the shadow world." I answer solemnly. My head drops and my eyes close. "There's nothing I can do. It's too late." What can I do?

"Frodo." She wails, rushing round his body and kneeling opposite of me, brushing his locks of hair back.

"There must be something! Something you can do! Anything!" Pippin yells as he comes to my side. I turn to face him to tell him the inevitable, but I stop.

Perhaps…perhaps. It's a long, long shot. But it may buy us some time. Athelas. If I can find the plant in time and apply it to his wound, it will slow the poisoning. I remember Frodo saying that Sam's his gardener...perhaps he's knows what it is and can help me find it!

Hope's fire warms my heart and makes my stomach jump.

I quickly get to my feet and turn, rushing over to Sam and grabbing his shoulders to get his attention from Frodo and on me.

"Sam." I shake his shoulders to get his attention. "Sam!" Sam looks up at me with wild eyes.

"Do you know the Athelas plant?"

"What?" He shrieks. A shrill screech sounds through the forest. The Nazgul are close! Frodo shrieks out in response and I glance over my shoulder to see Benthe place her quivering hand over his mouth, shushing him.

I turn back to Sam and shake his shoulders again to redirect his attention on me. "Athelas?"

"What?"

I sigh quickly. He must know it by another name! "Kingsfoil!"

"Yes! Yes! I know it!" He goes.

"The plant can slow the poison in Frodo's body. Quick, find it!" Sam dashes from my loose grasp and runs past me, disappearing into the foliage. I run into the foliage opposite where he went, leaving Benthe, Merry, and Pippin to tend to Frodo.

My stomach jumps and the deer meat threatens to come up my throat. I swallow it back down as I my lower my eyes to the ground. Slowing my aching limbs to a brisk walk, I search the ground for Athelas. Please, please be here!

I look to my left, right, front, back, beneath my damn feet. Nothing! Not one sight of the luminescent gold-green leaves! I feel the little hope that I had start to fade. The little fire inside my heart flickers in the black, much like the burning Nazgul falling into the black of night…I stop.

I realize just how much my lungs burn. I gasp for air, coughing out what little air I have left in my lungs. My eyes are on fire and my vision blurs as I fall to my kneels. Cough after cough curses my body. There's some cold, wet drop of water that slips from the corner of my left eye and down my numb cheek. A tear.

My whole body aches. Back, thighs, arms, feet. The itch on my ear burns like fire. Eyes, face, throat, lungs. All burning. Engulfed in flame. Cough after cough and tear after tear. My whole body is shouting, screaming, fighting for me to lie down and sleep. Any more of this and I'll be spitting up blood!

I can't stop now, though! I can't sleep, I can't stay still! Frodo! Despite the burning, aching, tiring pain that spasms throughout my body, I scramble to my feet.

My feet carry me with no particular elegance. I stagger through the forest, holding onto branches overhead and trunks at my side for balance.

Tears slip down and I cough for lack of air. The world about me slowly grows darker. No, no. I can't faint now! Not now!

"Frodo." I mutter, reminding myself he's back wherever I set his miserable body with only a woman and two Hobbits to tend to him. Like they'll do him any good! Perhaps Sam found it already. Perhaps he's back and already applying the leaves to Frodo's wound.

Oh no. What if Sam doesn't know how to apply it? One has to ground up the leaves before placing it on a wound! Otherwise it won't work! The juices inside the leaves will stay in them unless they're grounded up!

In my blurry, gradually darkening world, I see it. The beautiful evergreen leaves that glow golden out of the ground. A smile crosses my features as I stumble forward, falling to my hands and knees in pain.

Pain courses up my arms and knees upon contact with the ground. I don't care. I grit my teeth and crawl with the little remaining strength that I have to the plant, pulling the thief's knife from my belt.

The knife slips, slicing the pad of my middle finger. Blood pours fresh from the wound and onto the leaves and ground, spotting the golden glow. I quickly regain handling on the knife and start to cut furiously into the stem. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"Come on." I mutter with impatience. Back and forth, back and forth. The juices of Athelas start to ooze out from the stem. Back and forth, back and forth. Blood oozes from my fingers and mixes with the plant's juices. Back and forth, back and forth, back and – a cool, sharp metal slips beneath my chin and slides to my throat.

The wielder of the sword pushes my head back and says "What's this? A ranger caught off his guard?" I know that voice. Soft and warm, yet powerful and threatening. My eyes drift up the slightly curved blade to a gloved hand. I stare at the elf dressed in a pale green dress and tan leather boots.

"Arwen." I choke out. She quickly lowers her sword and kneels beside me, scanning the length of my body.

"You're hurt." She reaches a water skin hanging from her belt and unscrews the lid.

"Beyond belief." I mutter. As if I wasn't hurt.

"Here, drink." She lifts the brim to my lips and I greedily drink, enjoying the cold, pure water that slips down my throat. The burning in my throat disappears almost completely and my tired body briefly feels rejuvenated.

She pulls the skin back, screwing the cap back on as she says "My father sent me to find you. I've been looking for you for two days. Where is the ring?"

"You know about it?" I ask, turning my gaze to hers. How does she know?

She nods and replies "Well, the Nazgul are out killing whomever they find. Doesn't that explain enough?" It does. And to think that about a week ago I started to think they were but myth.

Another screech fills the air about us and Arwen recoils at my side in fear, reminding me of the wounded Frodo who has the ring with him! I turn my head to Arwen's half hidden figure.

"I need your help. Frodo, the one carrying the ring, has been wounded by a Morgul Blade."

"What?" Arwen gasps.

"I-I have a pony that I can take him to Rivendell on."

"I have a horse." She says quickly.

"Even better. Come!" I turn to get up, but I realize I haven't completely cut the Athelas yet!

"Go! Frodo's that way! I'll meet you there!" I say quickly, pointing to the direction I came from. Arwen nods as she turns and jumps to her feet, picking up her blade and running to her horse. She mounts the white creature and rides off in the direction.

I turn my attention back to the Athelas plant and finish cutting it. Grabbing the plant in my bleeding hand, I sheathe the thief's knife with the other and stand and run to Frodo. Frodo, Frodo, Frodo, Frodo. His name echoes in my head as trees fly past me.

Horrifying images come to my mind. Frodo's dead body, withered away with years of decay. Bugs crawl in and out of his empty sockets. I burst from the foliage, past the white horse, and kneel beside Arwen. Frodo's body convulses and tremors.

"Don't just stay still! Help him!" Benthe shouts. I shove the bloody leaves into my mouth and chew them as quick as I can, grinding the leaves into a mash.

"Frodo, stay with me." Arwen whispers, weaving her gloved hand through Frodo's dark locks.

Quickly, I pull a bit of wet leaves from my mouth with one hand and gently peel his maroon vest and white stained shirt back from his shoulder wound. Frodo cries out in pain as I dab the Athelas mash inside the gash. As I continue to apply the Athelas plant, Merry asks quietly "Who is she?"

"She's…she's an elf." Sam answers upon the realization of who Arwen is.

I finish in a matter of seconds. Now I have to get him to Rivendell.

I gently slip my arms beneath Frodo's slender shoulders and slim legs and pick up his body. Turning, I start to make my way to Arwen's horse to put him atop it.

"Where are you going?" Arwen asks as she jogs up to my side.

"Rivendell." I stop at the horse's saddle and slide Frodo up onto, earning several pained gasps from him, each one I wince at.

She speaks in Elvish tongue, which means in Man's "_But you have five Ringwraiths after you. Where the other four are I do not know. Let me take him._"

"No." I answer in my own tongue, placing my hands on the saddle to mount the horse. "Stay with the Hobbits." I tell her. "I will send horses for you."

"_No._" She shouts as her hand grips my shoulder, stopping me.

"Arwen-" I start, but she cuts me off.

"_No, I do not fear them. I am the faster rider when it comes to you and me. You know this. Once I get him Bruinen River my people will protect him._" She locks her deep blue eyes with mine.

"_You know this._" She repeats. Her hand slides down my aching arm and atop my hand. I could just jump on the horse and ride off. Just as I bend my knees a bit to do so, Frodo shrieks in pain.

I look up at him, seeing that the Athelas plant did little to help him. The more time I waste, the less time Frodo has! Frodo needs to get to Rivendell as swiftly as possible and I can't get him there in time. I have no choice but to let Arwen take him.

Reluctantly, I turn my head and lock my eyes with Arwen's, pulling my hand from beneath hers and slipping my fingers through hers.

"_Do not look back_." I say in her native tongue.

"I won't." She says in mine. Without another word, I help her into the saddle as she carefully situates her arms about Frodo.

She does as I say. Without another glance, she turns her horse East towards Rivendell and pounds his sides with her leather boots. The white stallion takes off and disappears into the foliage without a trace.

"Where is she taking him?" Benthe shouts. She jumps to her feet and rushes to stand in front of me.

"Where? Where?" She repeats.

"Did you not hear? Rivendell!" I yell.

"How do I know he will be safe? How do I know?" She wails. Where are the Nazgul when you need them? I will happily toss her to them now!

I grab her upperarms and squeeze them firmly. "I promise you he is safe." She lowers her gaze unconvinced. I continue "I promise you he is safe. I promise you." She remains silent as I look down at her bowed head.

"Look at me. Look at me." She doesn't. As gingerly and cautiously as I can so as not to startle her, I bring my hand from her upper arm and slip my fingers beneath her chin, lifting her fearful dark eyes to mine.

"I promise you. He is safe."

"The Nazgul." She breathes.

"Arwen is a faster rider than me. She will get him across the Bruinen River. I promise you that. I swear on my very life that when you walk into Rivendell, he will throw his arms about you and embrace you. I promise you this." I say.

"He'll-he'll never be truly safe." She chokes out, shaking her head as tears start to slip.

"Of course he-" I start.

"Not while a Morgul blade is his wound." Sam says angrily. My eyes drift past Benthe's shoulder to see Sam rise from the ground and stare at me.

He is right. Frodo will mostly heal, but he will always bear the burdensome scar of a Morgul blade. I do not understand the pain because I have never been stabbed with a Morgul blade, but I hear tales of those who have been. They feel as if they're always running from the Nazgul who could turn any corner and kill them slowly and in unmentionable ways. They never feel security and safety. Never.

Benthe's jaw quivers against my fingers. Turning my gaze back to hers, I realize my hand is still beneath her chin and the other is gripping her upper arm.

"I promise." I say once more, giving her arm a gentle squeeze and dropping my hands to my sides. A sudden screech fills the air about us. The Nazgul are close!

"We're not alone." Merry mutters.

"Come." I say, walking past Benthe and leaning over, picking up my cloak and securing it about my chest.

"Let's find a place to stay the night." I say.

We start jogging through the trees towards Rivendell, down a companion who is not dead, but safe. I have much to thank Lord Elrond and Arwen for when I reach Rivendell.

A small, flowing stream of water slowly appears on my left, gradually widening from a small drop of water too several yards from bank to bank as we continue to run along it. Another screech travels past the trees and into my ears, but further off this time. Good. Perhaps we can finally afford to rest with ease.

No later, a cluster of boulders appears opposite of us across the stream. I stop when I see a gaping hole in the boulders. A cave. This will be perfect to stay the night in! We'll be hidden from the Nazgul!

"There." I say, pointing to the cave across the shallow steam. Benthe and Sam pulling on Bill's lead rein stop at my side with Merry and Pippin taking the other.

"We'll stay there tonight." I say as I lower my hand to my side, casting my gaze from Merry and Pippin over to Benthe and Sam.

"Fair enough." Pippin says.

I lead them across the flowing waters and have Sam tie Bill's shortened lead rein to a tree hidden behind the boulders. I stop them at the mouth of the cave and slowly peer in to see if any creature has made his home here. The cave is silent and empty. I duck and enter the low cave.

"Watch your head." I warn. Benthe follows behind me as Pippin and Merry carrying Bill's saddle dart past me with their backs still straight. Very fortunate that they're short. It will be a very comfortable stay for them, I'm sure.

We all settle in the cave, drinking the remaining water in the three skins and eating the last of the mole and apples. I keep my gaze on the forest because what if the other four Nazgul find us? They know who Frodo was travelling with.

Once we finish our meal, I tell them to sleep. They readily comply. Benthe and Sam grab two blankets from Bill's saddle and the four push to the furthest corner of the cave. Sam situates them. Merry and Pippin huddle together and Benthe wraps the blankets about them and Sam and Benthe huddle on the outside of the two bundled Hobbits, pulling their cloaks tighter about their bodies. They soon drift to sleep.

A clap of thunder lights up the night sky and it starts to drizzle, dripping drops of water at the cave entrance. I settle down and rest my head against the wall, keeping the lookout for the night. It's dark at first, but my eyes slowly adjust to the light of the world outside the cave.

Yawns come up my throat unceasingly, closing my eyes a bit more each minute.

I have to stay awake, but how? I can't sing. It's best to keep silent with the Nazgul scouring the trees for us.

Sighing, my hand drops from my lap and to my side, feeling a smooth, cool round object. What's this? I slip my fingers beneath the dome to feel something flat and spongy.

Looking down, I make out in the dim light that it is a mushroom. Plucking the beige head from the ground, I bring it to my nostrils and sniff. Mona Topieol. A mushroom not poisonous, it is known to keep a person awake for several hours. It is usually used in small amounts when someone who has an illness needs to stay awake for certain reasons.

Perfect. I tear off a piece of the mushroom and plop it into my mouth, chewing it. I gag on the foul taste, like a boiled egg that sat out too long out in the sun. I suddenly realize something. 37 years ago, when Arwen force that bowl of disgusting herbs down my throat, there was that rotten boiled egg taste. She must have put Mona Topieol in there.

I shudder as I slip the remaining mushroom into my vest pocket and draw my bow and load it with an arrow.

I sit at the entrance with my bow resting in my hands, keeping vigilant. My body feels awake and the yawns cease. Pain still shoots from my back and arms every now and then, but I quickly become accustomed to it as the night passes on.


	8. Chapter 8 Rivendell

**Well, here's chapter 8. Thanks to those who reviewed and I hope you like! Please, Enjoy! :D **

**I was also thinking starting a Snow White and the Huntsman fanfic, but I still have yet to see the movie. **

**I hear it's a really good movie with an awesome take on the tale of Snow White! It sure does sound interesting! I won't spoil anything for those who haven't seen it either, but I'm looking forward to it. Thanks!**

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**Chapter 8 **_**Rivendell**_

First light breaks through the trees, casting a dim blue hue about the luscious green world. The rain has stopped and the morning smells of fresh dew on…lily petals and a fog hangs low to the ground, allowing me to see only several yards in front of me.

I listen to the birds sing their enchanting morning tunes and to the gentle flow of the stream outside the cave. Looking at the clear waters, I see a fish or two every now and then swim with the currents, barely moving their tails and fins as they glide through the water.

Drops of rainwater slide off the top of the cave and fall to the earth, landing on the muddy dirt before me.

One would be tempted to be lulled into a sense security with such a serene world about them, but I do not allow myself to fall into such a beauty. I keep my bow at the ready, keeping an eye out for any threat that may come our way. I also keep my bow out for breakfast. A nice, plump deer would suit me just fine.

After keeping watch for so long with nothing coming our way, I persuade myself to take a small break. I raise my eyes and count the drips of water that fall past the entrance and into the muddy earth.

_Drip. _One. _Drip_. Two. _Drip_. Three. _Drip…Drip…Drip…Drip._ My mouth is parched. I lean my head forward and tilt it back, letting the drips of water from the cave entrance to wet my tongue and throat.

My weight shifts back a bit and several drips of water miss my throat and land on my lower lip and stubble. Shifting my weight forward again, the drips of water land on my tongue and slide down it and down my throat. Feeling refreshed, I sit back on my heels.

It would be nice to get a gulp of water, though. Looking out at the stream, the flowing water offers me the pure gulp that I crave. I rise to my sore feet and step out into the moist, chilly air. It was warmer in the cave.

Making my to the stream, I crouch on the muddy back and set my bow and arrow beside me. I lower my hands into the flowing water and cup them as I bring a handful of falling water to my lips.

I suck the cool water from my hands and into my throat. This is even better than the small drips of water from the cave's entrance. Cool. Refreshing. Sweet tasting. Another gulp of water. Perhaps I shoulder give up ale and drink not but water.

Two more gulps and I feel refreshed. I grab my bow and arrow with one hand, letting the other dangle free at my side dripping wet. I walk back to the cave's entrance and peer in to see Merry and Pippin huddled together in the farthest corner, still wrapped in a bundle of blankets and snoring harmoniously with each other. Benthe's sleeps bent at the knee and on her side wrapped in her pale green cloak, flush against Merry and Pippin. Sam sleeps with his head propped against Merry's shoulder, his cloak wrapped about him as well.

The smell of sweat and mud fills the air in the cave, reaching and stinging my nostrils. I'm sure I smell no different. Perhaps a bit moldy as well. Shaking my head of the smell, I grab the three empty skins at Sam's feet.

I take the skins and walk back out of the cave to escape the stench. The morning dew and moisture in the air dilutes the smell at least. Walking back to the bank, I crouch and set my bow beside me.

I set the three skins on the other side of me and pick up one, unscrewing the top and sticking the skin in the water, the opening facing against the direction of the current. Once the skin's full, I pull it sopping wet out of the water and screw the lid back on, setting it down and moving onto the next.

I screw the lid back on the second and reach out to grab the third when a pair of filthy boots comes into view. I halt in my movements and follow up the boots, up the dirty white under dress and pale green cloak and up to Benthe's face. She looks down at me and I nod and greet "Good morning."

"Morning." She replies with a yawn. She turns her gaze from me and kneels at the bank, lowering her hands into the water and bringing her cupped hands to her lips.

I resume filling the last skin of water, rising to my feet with the sopping wet skin once it is filled. Before I screw the lid back on, I tip the skin back, careful not to let the rim touch my lips as I let the water stream out of it and down my throat.

Tilting it back, I see Benthe rise to her feet and shake her wet hands free of water. I offer her the skin. "Want a drink?" She nods and takes the water, tilting it back and letting the water stream out of the brim and into her agape mouth. She finishes and hands me the half full skin as she says "Thank you."

"You're welcome, milady." I screw the lid back on as she lowers herself to the ground again and rinses her face with water. I pick up the skins with one hand and my bow and arrow with the other and go to turn and walk back to the cave when Benthe speaks up.

"I'm sorry." I halt in my steps and turn back to face her. And thus the confusion ensues.

"For what?"

She rises to her feet and turns her head to me. "For not thanking you. You saved Frodo's life…and ours. And also for not trusting you. I'll-I'll be honest with you. The first two nights with you, I slept with my axe in my hand." My gaze drifts down to the axe attached to her belt.

"Last night, though." I meet her gaze again. "I kept my axe at my side. I trust you. WE trust you. I believe I speak for Sam, Merry, and Pippin as well. All you've done for us was feed us and protect us and all we've done for you was take advantage of you without a word of thanks. So…thank you. And we trust you. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you have but to ask me, Sam, Merry, Frodo, or Pippin."

Well, I suppose I am glad I have their trust now. It makes things easier between them and me. The temptation to toss them to the Nazgul leaves me.

I nod slowly and say "You're welcome, milady." Her mouth curls up a little. She then grabs folds of her stained white under dress and says "I could really use a bath. Could I shower down the in the stream?"

"Yes, but stay in eyesight." I say. I go to turn and head back towards the cave.

"Eyesight?" she squeaks. I stop in my steps and turn to face her. "I don't plan on washing in my clothes!" I can't help the chuckle that escapes my throat.

"I won't look." I tell her with a smile. She lowers her head and shakes it. Now I thought I had her trust. When I say I won't look, I won't look!

I stare at her for a moment, waiting for her to lift her head. She just stands there, remaining motionless. Sighing, I find myself taking pity on her.

"I'll make you a deal." I say. "Stay within hearing range that is reachable should you need help."

"That will not be very dignifying." She lifts her head.

"Would you rather live to see the sunset or be some creature's meal?" She smirks and replies "I suppose I have no choice in the matter. I'll be done in a bit. Please don't let the Hobbits come near to where I will be."

"Where will you be?" I ask.

"There." She turns and points some yards down the stream. Several branches full of green leaves hover over half the stream, blocking the view.

"Alright. Be quick, though. I would like to wash off too, as I'm sure the Hobbits also will."

"Alright." She nods and jogs off and steps into the stream, disappearing completely from view behind the branches. I turn and head back into the cave, ducking upon entry. Looking to the far corner, Sam, Merry, and Pippin are still huddled together, sleeping.

I set the three skins of water down when I nearly jump as someone asks "What's for breakfast?" Turning round to face the far corner, I see Merry's eyes wide open, staring at me expectantly.

"You seem to be the one who keeps on top of the meals." I joke. Every time the question 'What's for breakfast?' is asked, I can now guarantee myself that I will be turning to meet Merry's expectant eyes.

"Just breakfast. Pippin keeps on top of the rest." Merry chuckles, nodding his head towards Pippin who is sleeping.

"I'll have to find something. Listen, your lady friend went a couple yards that way and is washing off in the stream." I point in the direction Benthe went to bathe. "Keep a close ear on her."

"Ear?" He goes.

"I wondered the same thing. She doesn't trust the eyes nor the words of us. Just listen. If she screams, call for me and I'll get her." Merry laughs. "You can count on me." I smile and nod my thanks, turning and leaving to find a decent creature for breakfast. Maybe I could find some berries, too.

I leave the cave and straighten my back as I walk across the stream and into the thick fog.

It gets clearer as I go and I can see further and further down the stream. With my bow readied, I keep eyes and ears peeled for anything. I stick by the stream because this stream is a water source for animals. Something is bound to come my way.

Birds chirp all about me, filling the air with wonderful music. A yawn comes up my throat. I let it out with a wide mouth and reach into my vest pocket, ripping a small chunk of the Mona Topieol and slipping into my mouth. The rotten egg taste burns my mouth and throat, but I force myself to get past it and swallow the little beige chunk of mushroom.

Continuing along the soft bank that is almost free of twigs, I pull the arrow back against the bowstring a little. Any moment and something could come by. I stop and crouch behind a wide trunk close to the bank. An hour goes by, perhaps two.

We've got to leave soon. We can't stay here forever. Disappointed by the lack of food, I start to turn and leave when something rustles near by. Quickly turning back I see some tall grass rustle and mallard ducks fly out. Pulling back my bow, I follow the plumpest duck, a female, with the tip of the arrow.

I place the tip a bit ahead of her flight course and let it go. The arrow sails through the air and pierces through her head. Her wings fall motionless and she plummets to the ground, landing in the foliage she came from.

Jumping to my feet, I find the duck, and walk back with the kill down to the cave. Across the stream in front of the cave's mouth Merry, Pippin, and Benthe are all soaked, but look cleaner than before. Merry and Pippin pile fresh dry wood for a fire as Benthe leans forward, ringing out her hair sopping past her shoulder.

Sam comes walking down the bank soaked. He notices me and points to the dead duck in my hand. "Breakfast?" He asks.

"Yes." I reply, holding out the duck for him to take. He takes it, saying "I can pluck it and make some nice duck strips. Can I have the knife?"

"Of course." I pull the thief's wimpy, yet useful knife from my belt, give it a small flip in the air and catch the blade. I hold out the handle for him and he takes it and gets to work plucking and decapitating the duck.

Merry and Pippin have me take a rock to my sword and start a fire. While I continue running the rock down the blade to get a spark or two, Pippin starts to wander off a little too far for my liking.

"Stay within eyesight!" I shout to him. He looks back at me past his shoulder and shouts back "I will! I think I saw something else we can eat, though!"

"What is it?" Merry inquires loud enough for Pippin to hear him over the distance. Pippin bends over, picks up something and straightens his back. Turning back round to face us, he holds up two green-white spotted oval objects and shouts "Eggs! We'll have eggs and duck bacon for breakfast!"

"That's great, but get back over here! Now!" I order, rising to my feet. Pippin runs back over and comes up to me, holding them out for me to see.

"Are these eggs alright?" He asks. Peering down at them, I see that they are rock-warbler eggs. "They're fine. Don't eat all the duck, though. We have to save some for later."

"Alright." Pippin says. I finish the fire, Sam cooks the duck. While he cooks the duck, I wander down the stream and bathe where the other four did. I set my clothes out on the rocks and wade into the shallow stream, only interested in rinsing my sore body of the grime, dirt, and blood.

Before I do so, I view my forearms. They are bruised from elbow to wrist from where I collided with the steps back at Amon Sul. I can't see my back, but I can only imagine the two purple-blue circles from where the horse's hooves kicked me. It hurts to move my arms even a bit and bend my back, but I force myself to. Seeing my feet, they're blistered. The open sores and cuts on them burn in the pure water that rushes over them. I examine my left middle finger where I sliced myself. The pad is cut halfway through to the bone, no doubt, swollen dark yellow. Gingerly, I dab it only to hiss and shake the finger as pain shoots up my arm. It's infected. Damn. Viewing the back of my left hand, the scratches Frodo inflicted are almost completely healed, now just many dull red lines running down the skin. I remember the slice on my forehead. Lifting my hand to my forehead, I feel the blood crusted line running from temple to temple. It'll heal. It doesn't hurt like the rest of my body.

Carefully, I wash the dirt and blood off my skin, just splashing water on the bruises and not applying any pressure to them. I then walk stiffly to the bank and pick up my shirt, wash it, and set it out on a rock to dry. I do this with every article of clothing one at a time, save my boots. I even unroll my cloak and wash that in the stream.

Finishing quickly, I dress in my damps clothes and boots and make my way back to the four and sit with them at the fire roasting duck and eggs.

Between the five of us, we eat half the duck, both eggs, and drink the skins empty. I have Benthe and Sam load everything up onto Bill and send Merry and Pippin searching for edible plants that we can eat, keeping them in eyesight while I refill the three skins with water.

Once I finish filling the skins, I call Merry and Pippin back and they both return empty handed. Disappointing, but I push them further onto Rivendell. For the next four days, we travel with ease to Rivendell. I hunt and kill, give the carcass to Sam and have him prepare the meals for two rainy, dark days, but I have little luck on the third rainy day when we enter Trollshaws.

As I walk over stumps and round fallen trees, pulling on Bill's lead rein, I hear the rustling of bushes. Stopping Bill as I glance over my shoulder, Pippin plucks some bright red berries off a bush and plops them into his mouth. My eyes grow wide and my stomach churns as I realize the bright red berries are BloodyMary and they're very poisonous! They can stop the heart instantly!

"No! Spit them out!" I cry, running round Bill and to Pippin. Pippin quickly spits them out onto the ground.

"What? What's wrong with them?" He asks panicky.

"Did you swallow any?" I plead with him as I kneel to his stature. He remains motionless. No! No, no, no!

"Did you? Did you?" I grasp his upper arms and shake him to reality. He stares at me wide-eyed as he quickly shakes his head. My stomach drops as I let my arms fall to my side. Thank the Valar.

"What's wrong with them?" Merry asks, coming to Pippin's side. I grit my teeth at his ignorance.

"These berries." I turn my torso and reach to the bush behind me, plucking a berry and turning back to face them.

Holding it out for them to see, I say "These berries are called BloodyMary. Extremely poisonous. They would stop your heart instantly." Benthe and Sam gasp and Pippin's jaw drops agape. Merry turns his horrified expression to Pippin and says "You almost died. Don't eat anything you find without Strider's permission."

Pippin nods shakily, conjuring spit up in his mouth and spitting repeatedly into the grass. We continue on, camp in Trollshaws without dinner and move on before first light. By evening of the fourth rainy day, we come to the Ford and make our way up the ledge.

We come round the bin and there it is. Rivendell. The Elven city made of Pearl granite and gold. Room upon room, chamber upon chamber, hall above hall, supported by countless spiraling intricate columns. The Misty Mountains surrounding Rivendell are veiled with moss and trees. Myriad glistening waterfalls cascade down the mountain walls and crash into the large Nameless Lake right beneath the entire city. Beyond the ledge is the East-West road leading to the main entrance of Rivendell, a tall, towering, glistening golden-white gate that remains wide open, its arms welcoming all who come.

I turn my head and torso to Merry, Pippin, Benthe, and Sam who holds Bill's lead rein.

"Behold." I turn back and stretch my hand out, palm up. "Rivendell."


	9. Chapter 9 Quick Course of Actions

**Hey, there. Here's chapt. 9. **

**I just want to apologize for the late update. For a sincere apology, I am going to upload chapt. 10 today too. Thanks! Enjoy the story!**

**Pearlgranite is a type of rock I made up. It's suppose to be a really tough rock, kind of like the Cognato stuff. **

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**Chapter 9 **_**Quick Course of Actions**_

We enter into Rivendell and Arwen runs to me with outstretched arms and throws herself onto me. I catch her and encircle her waist.

"You made it." She breathes into my ear, heating up the itchy mosquito bite. I kiss her cheek and grab her upper arms, pulling her off me.

"Frodo?" I ask, locking my eyes with hers.

"He's fine. He's resting now." I nod my thanks.

"Frodo? Where's Frodo?" Sam speaks up. Arwen turns her gaze to the Hobbit.

"He's alive and well." Arwen assures him. I turn my head to Sam and see the relief that floods throughout his tense body. Benthe steps beside Sam and asks "Can you take us to see him?"

"Of course. Follow me." Arwen pulls from my loose fingers and turns.

We follow Arwen's brisk pace as we walk down the Main Corridor. Like a mesmerizing maze, the colossal pearlgranite columns line either side of us, nothing to serve as a barrier between the floor and the water. One could walk between the columns, step over the edge and fall into the lake.

Arwen turns left, leading us through the Western Corridor. Not as mesmerizing as the Main, but still awe-striking. I find myself gawking at the intricate leaves carved into the high white-gold ceiling as I make my way down the corridor. In this corridor too, no railing stops anyone from stepping over the edge. The Main, Western, and Eastern Corridors have no railing, just spiraling columns ascending higher than two towering dragons.

Arwen turns right and we climb two flights of stairs, coming onto a broad balcony lined with doorframes covered with swaying white curtains on one side and a thick, balustrade carved with white-washed images of leaves on the other. We come to a doorframe directly across a large tree growing in the expansive Courtyard below. I follow the balustrade all the way round its four corners lined with fluttering white curtains that lead to large chambers, boxing in the whole Courtyard. This large communal residence is just one of many connecting residences in Rivendell, each residence with their own large, beautiful Courtyard.

Casting a quick glance over the balcony, I see that this Courtyard is a maze of beige stone paths, many small sections of gardens filled with flowers of all sorts of colors and sizes, several extensive freshly clipped grass fields, and at the center of the breathtaking Courtyard stands a large white fountain etched with white-washed leaves and streaming with pure crystal-like water.

The residence that I used to live in before Lord Elrond revealed to me that I was Isildur's heir is a little ways from here, but not a long walk. The Courtyard there is twice the size of this one and even has a small meadow and plaza where the merchants here come to sell their merchandise from last I remember.

"Here." Arwen says, reaching out to the curtains. Arwen stops and looks at the four past her shoulder and says "And there's someone else in here that you'll be overjoyed to see." Arwen grasps the two curtains and pulls them apart.

Eagerly peering into the room, I see Frodo dressed in a fresh ivory shirt and sitting up in a large white bed with silvery sheets pooling at his waist and more than eight plush pillows at his back. His gaze quickly drifts to see who came to visit him. His smile grows wider and wider as his eyes go from Merry and Pippin, to Benthe, to Sam, and to me.

"You made it!" He excitedly shouts as he throws the covers from his legs, jumping off the bed and meeting the four halfway. They all gather round Frodo and form a large hug about him, sandwiching the poor little Hobbit.

It's quite the amusing sight, really. Benthe toppling over her two feet to find her place amongst the four Hobbits, Sam pushing past Merry and Pippin's cemented feet to get an arm around Frodo, and Merry and Pippin jabbing each other in the sides to see who gets first hug.

I chuckle and no later Arwen's chuckle joins in with mine.

"Lady Arwen." A woman's voice sounds behind her and me. Turning my head to see, an Elfmaiden servant draws Arwen's attention and says "Your father wishes to see on private matters in his chambers."

"Oh, alright. I'll be there soon." The servant winces as she says "My apologies, milady, but he wishes for me to bring you to him immediately."

"Oh, then I best follow." The servant smiles and turns, leading Arwen away. Just as Arwen leaves, she glances at me past her shoulder and disappears past the flowing white curtains. I turn my gaze back to the reunited five who still relish and cherish in each others' wellbeing.

"Alright, that's enough! That's enough! I can hardly breathe!" Frodo shouts with laughter, throwing his hands up in the air and waving them about in distress.

Sam pulls away, but Benthe, Merry and Pippin still keep their gripping arms about him. Sam shakes his head and says "Alright, come on, you three, break it up! Frodo needs a breather!"

Sam's words go unheeded by the three still engrossed in their snake-like hug. Sam turns his head to me and pleads "Please, Strider. Get them off of him."

I smile in response and walk to the hugging mass, gripping Merry and Pippin's shoulders with either hand and saying "Give Frodo his space. He needs it. Remember the wound he's healing from." Merry and Pippin's smiles fade as they gaze up at me, tilting back their slender chins all the way. Funny. It feels like I'm a giant to ants. Well, I know that they're Hobbits, but it still feels strange.

Merry and Pippin frown and their eyes grow wide…almost pleading with me to let them continue their warm embraces.

"Now, why does this seem familiar?" An old man speaks. I know that voice. I would know it anywhere, even if he was gagged and thrown into an interior room with no windows and doors.

Throwing my head in disbelief, I can't help the smile and the gleeful laughter that leaves my throat as I take in the elderly, but healthy grey robed chap sitting in a wood chair next to Frodo's bedside. How did I miss him?

"Gandalf!" I jovially greet. Before Gandalf can get a word in etch-wise, Benthe's arms are wrapped about his shoulders. Her shoulders begin to shudder as she chokes out past tears "Father, where were you? Why weren't you at Prancing Pony like you said? What happened?"

Father? She's…she's his…oh my. How could I…have been so oblivious? Well, perhaps I wasn't that oblivious on my part. She was just another woman who happened to be travelling with the four Hobbits and the one to weep over her friend's frightening absence. Frodo did say she was Archet, and Gandalf did say that he had a textile shop in Archet.

The little girl Gandalf brought to me to heal beyond the living, half-eaten by wolves, was Benthe. That's all I remember of her. Everything else is too fuzzy for me. Something about her slipping away from her parents in the middle of the night, or something like that. I do remember that her parents were kind and loving according to Gandalf, so her slipping away in the middle of the night was not motivated by cruelness, loneliness, nothing bad of the sort. When she slipped away, wolves found her and were in the middle of their meal when Gandalf happened upon them and saved what was left of the girl because she was still alive.

Now I remember what I used on her body to heal her. Athelasa, or more commonly known as Queensfoil, along with lots of thread, several needles, and lots of towels. I also remember brushing her long, bloody tresses back to see that she had pointed ears. An elf. She is an elf. Gandalf had sent thanks in 200 gold and word to me a week later that neither a scratch nor scar remained on her body.

In my own opinion, what happened to her was because of her childish decision and an unfortunate turn of events.

"I-I got held up." Gandalf stutters, casting his desperate gaze to me begging me to do something, avoiding Benthe's demanding eyes. I would help him, I really would, but his reasons, whatever they are, for not speaking the truth are ridiculous. Why not just tell us what really happened? I would like to know what happened to him, that's for certain.

"Yes, we all believe that." Sam retorts sarcastically, his arms folding across his chest.

"What really happened?" Merry asks, slipping from my grasp and joining Sam's side.

"I told you inquisitive buffoons already. I got held up!" He says annoyed with their persistence.

"You expect us to believe that?" Benthe asks, pulling from Gandalf and straightening her back.

"Well…no, I don't. But it is the truth."

"Oh, Gandalf," Frodo starts. "it is the truth one way or the other, but you're skipping the reasonable details. Why don't you just tell them what you told me?"

Gandalf's gaze meets Frodo's and he goes to speak, but Arwen's soft voice interrupts the interrogation I had the misfortune of witnessing.

"Aragorn, Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you." I turn my head and torso to Arwen's head poking through the two curtains.

I nod and turn back to the others, saying "I hate to leave such a lovely reunion, but I must excuse myself."

"Before you go," Frodo says and I lower my gaze to his. "I just want to say it's good to see you well, despite that…that head wound." Frodo trails his forehead from temple to temple with his fingers.

"Ah, thanks." I say, bowing slightly to them all in respectful farewells and joining Arwen out on the balcony.

"Come." She urges, leading me further down the balcony.

I walk alongside her at a leisurely pace as we pass through several residences, each one becoming larger, grander, more breathtaking. I begin to regret ever leaving here and living with the remnant of my people, the Dunedain, in the wilderness. No matter. I made my choice and I am going to remain with it since I am the sixteenth chieftain of my people.

As we continue to walk along through numerous residences, Arwen startles me when she lightly asks "Amazed at the humbling art etched into the walls, are you?" I turn my gaze to her as we continue walking.

"Indeed. I'm starting to regret ever leaving here. I wish I stayed."

"Well," She goes, turning her eyes to look ahead of her. "my father never handed over your chamber to anyone after you left. He had it cleaned daily, but those are the only people who stepped foot into it. Since I assume you will be staying here for some time, you can stay in your old chamber. I'll have my father send you clothes to wear other than what you have on your back."

"Thank you." I say, taking in Arwen's figure. Clothed in a flowing white dress, a long white coat and wearing her long black hair down in simple waves. The way she carries herself, the way her hair flows down her back and shoulders, the way the folds of her dress sway with each graceful step she takes does enough to draw my attention from the awing art of Rivendell's beauty to hers.

It's not only her physical beauty that draws me to her, but her gentle nature and tender integrity. That's what drew me to her in the first place. Not her looks, but the way she spoke and the way she treated others with the utmost respect and honesty. I consider her appearance a bonus.

I am so absorbed in her that I fail to realize we walk up a ramp that spirals round a tall tower a thousand flights high with only a thin, flimsy railing to serve as protection between me and the roofs, grounds, and the Nameless Lake that are far below me. If one was too fall, it would probably take about three minutes to die, considering that they would die upon instant collision and splatter into nothing.

At the top of the tower high in the clouds lies Lord Elrond's chambers. One would think that his chambers are nothing to be ashamed of with myriad rooms and plenty of gardens and Courtyards. But the last I've seen of them, that was not the case.

He has three substantially big and beautifully furnished bedrooms that house his children, Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir. For himself, he has a master bedroom twice the size of theirs that is furnished appropriately. He also has a personal library, a study room, several washrooms, and a moderately sized foyer. No maze of rooms, no dazzling gardens or Courtyards. He just has the necessities for him and his family to govern Rivendell with comfort and ease. Besides, the furniture in his room are the exact same furniture I had in my chamber.

Arwen takes the final step and leads me into the open foyer past the pale curtains covering the doorframe. We stop at the entrance and Arwen announces "Father! Aragorn is here!" I look around, gasping quietly at the sight. Barely any walls, just a flimsy railing like the one spiraling up the tower keeps Elrond and his family from falling over the edge. I don't remember this. It's been 67 years since I've been in his chambers.

Elrond appears past the corner no sooner I turn my gaze ahead of me, adorned in pure white robes and his simple golden band about his head that serves as his Elven Crown.

"Lord Elrond." I acknowledge, bowing my head. I wait for what I feel a moment too long for him to acknowledge me in return. A cramp begins to form in my curved neck and I refuse my flickering eyes to see what stalls him.

"Aragorn…my son." He says finally, releasing me from my trapped position. Straightening my back, I see him turn his stern gaze to his daughter who stands at my side.

"You may leave."

"Yes, father." Arwen bows her head slightly and turns and leaves, disappearing past the swaying pale curtains that blow about from the gentle breeze weaving throughout the foyer.

Elrond locks his dark brown eyes with mine, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"It has been long since I last saw you." He begins.

"Indeed." I reply.

"You do know why you are here, right?" I pause after he asks the question. Why am I here? Well.

"Because your daughter came with word that you wished to see me."

"No, not here in my chambers, but in Rivendell." That's what he meant. But that does not change the question 'why am I here?'. I wait for him to break the prolonged silence, but he clasps his hands behind his back and straightens his posture, waiting patiently for my answer. I have to say something, but what? Why am I here?

"I…I do not know. I am not sure…what you are asking." I stutter, my sweaty fingers slipping round the hilt of my sword and tightening about it for something to merely hold.

"There is no need to cling to your sword. You are safe here." Elrond's hand falls into view as he motions to the floor. "The reason why you are here in Rivendell is because of the One Ring. You know why you are here. It just did not cross your mind when I asked the question."

Come to think of it, that is the real reason why I am here. Not because of Frodo's need for help or Gandalf's pleading letter, but because of the One Ring. Where is it? Surely any mortal and immortal alike would be tempted to wield such power!

"Where is the ring?" I ask in panic.

"No need to worry. Hidden. Even I do not know where it is."

"Who does?"

"Only Frodo and Gandalf know and they have the keys to wherever they hid it."

"A very decent precaution."

"I do what I can for my people and for my family." Elrond says with a nod. He remains silent as he turns and walks to the edge of the foyer, pulling his hands from his back and gripping the railing.

He says "The reason why you are here in my chambers is because once Frodo arrived here with the Ring, I quickly chose what I thought to be the best course of action for us to take concerning the One Ring."

"And what is said course of action?" I ask, taking two steps forward, eager to hear the words of his hopeful solution. Lord Elrond releases the railing and turns to me, clasping his hands behind his back again.

"To hold a Council with representatives from the all races of the Earth to determine the fate of the Ring."


	10. Chapter 10 Visionere Well

**Here's chapter 10 as promised! In this chapt, you get more detail on Aragorn's past and you'll learn about his guilt trip. Sad, sad, eh? **

**Well anyways, enjoy! :D **

**Happy late fourth of July and enjoy the story!**

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**Chapter 10 **_**Visionere Well**_

An Elfmaiden servant draws warm water in the tub in my old chamber. I strip myself of my sword, bow, quiver of arrows, the empty pack, and my rolled up cloak as she continues to fill the stone tub with steaming buckets of water. Setting my things on the foot atop fresh white sheets of my bed, I walk round it and collapse onto the soft mattress from pain and exhaustion, recalling the events that followed after Lord Elrond revealed his plan to me.

I asked him why he was telling me of the Council. His reason was that he extended his invitation to me to attend it. Even though he called it an invitation, he made my presence at the Council obligatory.

He then told me that he wanted me to bring Gandalf and Benthe to him. I did. Lord Elrond explained to us that Benthe had a past. I laughed at the mere idea. Benthe even joked about it, saying "Now, don't tell me that I have a tragic past! Do I have to keep it secret and elude everyone who dares to question my existence?"

Lord Elrond assured her that it was nothing like that and that she could tell it to whomever she pleased. He said he simply wanted her to know who she was and where she truly came from.

He then led her away into the innermost room in his chambers. I remember when he led me to his innermost room. In the room lies the Visionere Well which Lord Elrond had used to reveal to me my past and a little glimpse of my future.

My father, Arathorn, ran and panted as he chased after a band of Orcs past numerous trees. An arrow suddenly pierced him through his knee, another through his belly, and the last through his heart. He fell to the ground and breathed his last breath before dying.

Then I remember seeing a woman running in the rippling water of the Well, clutching a bundle of cloths close to her chest. The bundle of cloths was me and the frantic woman clutching the bundle, repeatedly glancing past her shoulder to see where her enemies were, was my mother, Gilraen.

Rivendell then came into view in the Well's waters and Gilraen handed me to Lord Elrond, requesting in her soft voice "Please, hide him. Raise him as your own. Do not let others know who he truly is. Do not let HIM know who he truly is. I do not want him to meet the same fate as his father and grandfather. I truly do not." Elrond nodded and said "Do not worry. The heir to Isildur's throne is safe."

Then her memorial appeared in the water and I remember Lord Elrond's hand gripping my shoulder and ripping my face from the Well. At first, I was unable to move and I remember falling to my knees, panting and coughing up blood. I recall not being able to help weeping…tears of blood.

My mother was still living with me in my chamber in Rivendell when I saw my past and her grave in The Visionere Well. When I came back to my chamber and told her all that Lord Elrond showed me, she sat on my bed and wept. Through her weeping, she choked out "Now that you know, do not tell anyone. You are still Estel."

When she told me this, I told her of my wishes to dwell with the remnants of my people. I also told of her of my wishes to be called Aragorn, not Estel. Through her continuous weeping, she kept choking out that her worst fears came true. She kept saying that I would meet the same demise as my father and my grandfather.

She then learned of my love for Arwen a week later when I first met Arwen. My mother begged me to not continue this. She told me the reason she did not want me to wed Arwen. She said "She comes from a line nobler than ours, my son. Mortals should not seek the hand of Elves in marriage."

I reminded her of Beren and Luthien, but she was not swayed. Instead, she muttered that my end is coming faster than she originally thought. I loved her, but I couldn't persuade myself to stay and cause her more pain. At first light the following day, I left her in my chamber and went to live with the remnants of my people in the wilderness.

When the Saber attacked me 37 years ago and Vaemyr brought me to Rivendell for healing, I never saw my mother's face. For some time, I forgot that she existed. I truly forgot.

It was only 15 years later when I received word that my mother was very ill. When the courier brought me the message, I inquired him who my mother was. I truly forgot. I truly, truly did. After a prolonged silence between me and the confused courier, repeatedly asking if he had the wrong person, Halbarad, leader of the Dunedain, had reminded me of her.

When the courier dismissed himself and left quickly, Halbarad pleaded with me to tell him how I had forgotten her. I told him that I did not know why.

I still do not. He then sent me to Rivendell to plead for her forgiveness at the side of her deathbed. I hurried to Rivendell at the age of 76 and ran to her bedside and pleaded with her to forgive me. Her only response to my want for clemency and tears was "I gave hope to the Dunedain, I have kept none for myself."

She died then and there in my arms. I mourned her death for three years before returning to the Dunedain. The last link, the last connection to my past was and is gone, dead in her grave. The woman who bore me in her womb, protected me, and gave me life was and is dead.

There is just one thing I regret not doing to her. I never uttered a word of thanks to her, not a word of gratitude. How I was such a heartless man to abandon his mother and forget of her existence, I will never know, but I do not forgive myself for it. How could I? I can hardly forgive a man who cheats me in any ordeal!

Then Lord Elrond and Benthe reappeared in the foyer where Gandalf and I were sitting silently in and that drew me out of my wallowing in self misery. Benthe explained to Gandalf and me of her past as she held a towel to her bleeding nose.

Her parents were simple merchants who had close ties with Lord Elrond. That is why their business prospered. Benthe told us that she had a happy life. Her parents were fair and kind to her and she said something of her father always telling her tales of when he served under Lord Elrond in the War of the Last Alliance.

I did not hear much of her mother, as I begun to dwell back into my past.

I heard as much as her mother was a blacksmith who followed a jouster around, forging and repairing his armor as he competed in numerous tournaments.

When her mother and father met, they fell in love, married, and her father started the construction business with his wife.

When she was a little girl, about the age of 9 or 10, she slipped away in the middle of the night because she wanted to have fun and was attacked by wolves. She had lost her memory of her parents until tonight. When her parents found out that she was under someone else's care, they both decided that it was best to leave her with him. Why, I do not know. They are dead now, though. Just as dead as my mother.

Benthe's birth name is Esther, but when Lord Elrond asked her which name she would take, she said that she would take Benthe.

Gandalf had fallen quieter than he already was and I remember that his gaze was lowered, his grey beard reaching to his waist. Benthe asked him what was wrong and he told her that she knew who her true father was. Benthe wrapped her arms about him and kept telling him that he would always be her father. No other man would walk her up to her future husband.

Lord Elrond then pointed to me and told her that I also experienced the Visionere Well's waters. Benthe looked to me for confirmation and I nodded and told her nothing of my heritage, but that my real birth name is Aragorn and that I, unlike her, chose to be called my birth name over Estel. I also told her that instead of my nose bleeding, I coughed up and wept tears of blood.

Benthe's jaw dropped and she simply said "Well, I guess I only felt a small part of what you felt in the waters." That 'part' that she was speaking of was pain, remorse, and regret.

Then what Lord Elrond said next is still beyond me. He said "Gandalf, Benthe. I am holding a Council to determine what is to be done with the Ring. I am extending invitations to both of you." Gandalf and I both looked to Benthe who was standing motionless. I jumped to my feet and argued against her presence at the Council! Rivendell Law dictates no female presence is allowed in any Council.

Lord Elrond held his hand up to silence me and he said "Think, my son. Think of all the races that inhabit the Earth. Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits. Tension runs high between every race, between every people, between every individual. Each race is bound by the One Ring, and so bound to the same doom, unless, we unite and fight back. Take back what was ours! Freedom! Those who will attend the Council, including you, are stiff-necked people with closed minds who will look at each race, each people, and each individual with disdain. They will fail to see that we have to stand together, unless, I give them an embodiment of unity of us all, mortal and immortal alike.

"They will see her present amongst us males at the Council, then when they do question me of her presence, I will use her to explain to them the necessity for us all to be unified against Sauron. Every single being alive determines the fate of us all. I will use her to open their minds to this fact. Surely this makes sense to you, my son." I had given him no answer. It did and still does not make sense. Perhaps I am more stiff-necked than Lord Elrond assumed me to be. He surely knows it now.

"Your bath is ready, My Lord." The servant speaks, drawing me out of my light sleep. Lifting my head, I see her standing idly next to the dark screen. On the other side of the screen lies the warm water in the bath. Craving for the clean, dry feeling, I try to sit up, but the pain in my back refuses me to. I collapse onto the bed.

"Let me help." She walks over to me and grabs my shoulders, pulling my stiff body to an upright position. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. She starts to pull on my shoulders, trying to lift my weight from the bed.

"No." I tell her, grabbing her wrists and prying her hands off me. "I can get up the rest of the way. Thank you."

"You're Welcome, Lord Aragorn." She bows and leaves my room, disappearing past the white curtains. I wait for a moment, listening closely to the world outside my chamber. Not a sound, just the water of the falls crashing into the Lake and the soft, distant chatter of those walking through the Courtyard down below.

Good. I brace myself for the pain and place my palms on my kneecaps. As I apply pressure to them and gradually lay my dead weight onto my blistered feet, I cry out a little from the pain. Not enough to be heard, but enough to make the it more bearable.

With my weight resting atop my aching and sore feet, I stiffly half-walk, half-limp to the screen. I am still thoroughly amazed at how far my blistered feet managed to carry me. That ends quickly though as my feet start to give way. Before I crash into the tub, I reach out and cling to the screen for support.

While clinging to the screen with one hand, I strip of my clothes with the other, ignoring the pain in my back and infected finger.

Quickly so as to not fall again, I slip into the tub's steaming waters.

For an hour, maybe more, I sit in the slowly cooling water, letting my sore and tired body finally find the rest it needs. No more sitting on my haunches in fear of the Nazgul, no more hunting for food, no more hiding, no more pain, no more climbing, running, fighting. This is perfect. Surrounded in warm water that cleanses me of all dirt, blood, and pain that has accumulated far too much for my liking over a short six days.

I realize how late it is and I do not want to miss breakfast in the Great Hall tomorrow morning. If I do, then it will not be much of a problem. I can just have one of the servants bring me something to eat until dinner, but the portions available at breakfast do not nearly compare to the small trays the servants bring.

I wash my body and hair, applying little to no pressure on my back, forearms, feet, thighs, and finger. Once my body is all but dirty, I slowly rise from the filthy water and dry myself in a clean, soft white towel and dress in a fresh white tunic and loose black pants, which gives room for my aching thighs.

I grab another fresh white towel from the dark wood desk that the servant had set my clothes on and place it about my neck and shoulders, allowing it to catch any water that drips from my soaked hair.

Also on the desk lies three small white bowls filled with clear gel. Picking up the white bowl from the middle, I lift the brim to my nostrils and sniff it twice.

"Mullen nuts." I say to myself. Crushed Mullen nuts are known to draw out impurities causing infection and promote fast healing for the wound. Taking the bowl, I turn and find myself walking on the sides of my feet to make it to the bed with some ease.

I sit at the foot of the bed and place the bowl in my lap, scooping up some of the Mullen nut gel with my finger and carefully dabbing it onto my swollen one. The pain leaves almost instantly and a sigh of relief flows past my lips as I relish in the new warm, burning sensation that travels from my finger to my chest. Much better than the spasms of pain shooting from my back to my whole body.

Once my finger pad swells down back to its original size and the dark yellow yields to a bright pink, I start on one foot, dabbing the gel onto the open sores and blisters. I let the burning sensation replace the soreness and aching and do the next foot, covering the multitude of sores and cuts with the crushed Mullen Nuts.

Once I finish, I set the bowl on the cold white stone tile and roll onto my hands and knees and crawl to the head of my bed, pulling back the fresh white sheets and slipping beneath them, careful to not smear any of the gel off my feet and finger.

Tugging the covers up to my chin and pulling the towel from underneath me, I toss it somewhere without care and settle my head against the soft white pillow, quickly drifting to a restless sleep.


	11. Chapter 11 To Abandon Reason

**Here's chapter 11! I just want to thank those who reviewed and give my personal thanks to Shawn M., a guest review. I am glad he/she was able to leave a review helping me to become a better writer.**

**Anyways, once again here's the 11th chapter! Aragorn gets a big shock/surprise in this chapter! I mean we already know about Saruman, but Aragorn didn't know at the time...I'm guessing he found out about him when he was able to speak to Gandalf. One more thing...I am writing this story after the movies but I am trying to write Aragorn and Elrond's relationship close to the books. No tension between them, well other than Aragorn imagining it. Elrond is completely happy for his daughter. :)**

**Now, no worries! Chapter 12 is the big Council! Then 13 will be the beginning of the journey itself. Well, with no further ado, enjoy this chapt!**

* * *

**Chapter 11 **_**To Abandon Reason**_

"Hand me that." The voice is deep, but soft.

"Here." Another voice says, a bit softer and quieter than the first.

I feel something scrape against my stubble, plucking the little rough hairs from my skin. Cold air rushes against my vulnerable flesh, its thin fingers poking the skin repeatedly.

"Done." The deep voice says.

"Good. Now wash it off." Says the softer voice.

I fight to rouse from my sleep, but my body remains motionless. What's going on? Why is my face tingling where my stubble is? Did someone shave me?

An icy wet cloth is run along my bare jaw and lips, making me even more aware of the possibilities of being shaved. I want to get up. I need to see what they've done! What's to say that they haven't shaved my head too? Is this a dream?

"Good morning, little brother." The first voice goes again, but farther away.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?" The second voice asks.

"You don't want to miss breakfast." The first voice adds.

"Rise. Lord Elrond had us bring you fresh clothes." The second voice goes.

I do not honestly care at the moment. I want to sleep. Won't they just get the message that I am tired, that I am still healing and go away?

"Are you hungry?" The deep voice asks. I am.

"Starving! Should we just leave him, eat, and come back to get him up?" Wait! I don't want to miss eating! I hear the first voice start to speak again.

I push open my tired eyes and shoot up into a sitting position. Pain bids be morning as it spasms from my back to my arms and gut.

"Ah, you're up. We were just about to give up on rousing you." The lighter voice says.

Looking back and forth at the two Elves in my room, I see that they both look very similar in the face. The one standing on my right bedside is a bit taller, burlier than the Elf standing on the opposite side. Both are adorned in similar blue and gold embroidered robes with their smooth, long black hair clipped back out of their faces.

"Elladan, Elrohir. What did you do to me in my sleep?"

"Shaved you." The one on my left bedside, the one with the lighter voice, Elrohir, answers. I turn my sleepy eyes to his and ask in horror "Why? Did you shave…shave my-"

"No, we did not. Just your face. We did not shave your head, do not worry. Elrohir has grown out of the immaturity." Elladan answers.

"Good." I say, turning my gaze to the foot of my bed to see the same Elfmaiden servant who drew the water in my tub yesterday standing idly there, a stack of beige, purple, and silver clothes in her arms.

"Your dress for breakfast in the Great Hall! You should get up before you miss it." Elrohir goes, beaming at me with his childish smile. I turn my gaze to Elrohir and can't help the smile and head shake that I give him in return, remembering our peculiar little antics when we were younger. Well, perhaps I am being light with using the word 'little' to define the scale of our 'peculiar antics'.

When I was young, about 5, Elrohir and I decided that it would be fun to see what it would be like to have no hair on our heads. Elrohir grabbed a hold of some razors from the servants, shaved my head, and had me do his. I was halfway done, having shaved one side of Elrohir's head, when Lord Elrond caught us in the act and punished us for our childish behavior by keeping us separate for a week. That was a lonely week without Elrohir, but Elladan substituted himself for that loneliness by teaching me the bow in one of the Courtyards.

"Get dressed. Elrohir." Elladan says.

"Yes, brother!" Elrohir squeaks in reply.

"Let's go. Father is expecting us at breakfast."

"Alright." Elladan turns and leaves, followed by Elrohir who grins at me past his shoulder as he says "It's good to see you again, Aragorn."

"And you." I reply with a smile.

Elrohir disappears beyond the white curtains that sway in the gentle breeze.

"My Lord." The servant earns my eyes.

"Your dress as requested by Lord Elrond." She holds out the stack of clothing.

I throw the white blankets off my legs and peer down at my feet. Not one sore or blister on them. They appear as healthy and clean as ever. I peer at my middle finger and at the back of the hand to see that the slice and Frodo's scratches are completely healed, not a spot of red in sight. My back, forearms, and thighs are a bit sore, but much better from yesterday.

"You seem of better health, my Lord." The servant says.

"Indeed." I rise from my bed and walk on my new feet pain free. Taking the stack of clothes from the servant, she bids me farewell with a bow and leaves.

I walk behind the screen, seeing that the clothes I arrived in and the towel I used to dry off are gone. Walking over to the tub and peering in, I see that the filthy water has been drained and the tub scrubbed spotless. Being in clean surroundings brings me to the realization of how clean and dry I am.

My skin doesn't stick to my clothes with sweat and rainwater, but breathes freely. Closing my eyes, I stand in my spot holding the stack of clothes in my arms, relishing in the cool, dry, clean atmosphere of my chamber. Celebrating the rebirth of my feet, I wiggle my toes and slide my foot across the smooth stone tile, the coolness of the tile soothing the rough sole.

My stomach rumbles suddenly, reminding me of the breakfast I am missing down in the Great Hall.

Quickly, I strip of my clothes and dress in the fresh ones, putting on the pants, buttoning the small gold buttons of the elaborate beige robe, tying the pure silver sash about my waist, and slipping into the velvety violet over-robe.

I stop to admire the clothing. The over-robe's silver trimming, the real silver sash. I peer down at my chest, awed by the stitched swirls, one swirl curling into another, etched into my robe like the falling leaves etched into the columns, ceilings, balustrades, and walls on every square inch of Rivendell, save the floor. Gawking at the floor, I run my foot along the stone tile once again. So smooth, so…perfect.

My stomach rumbles again, so I put on my boots, comb the snarls out of my hair, and make my way past the fluttering curtains and down the four flights of stairs, bidding good morning to two Elfmaidens along the way.

I walk through several residences, respectively bidding morning to three Elves and two more Elfmaidens, before descending two flights of stairs.

I walk through the Western corridor, pass the Main Corridor, and into the Eastern. As I walk down the Corridor, the aroma of cooking meat and cinnamon reaches my nostrils, quickening my pace.

Drawing closer and closer to the Great Hall, the loud chatter of dining Elves grows. The closer I get, the more distinct the sound of clinking dishes, cups, and silverware becomes.

Taking two more wide strides, I come to the Great Hall's towering entrance.

Stepping into the massive, open room, I see the Grand Table, as wide as a dragon's back and as long as twelve dragons. The tabletop is a glossy, deep blue marble and its weight supported by countless gold legs. All about the table sits most of Rivendell's citizens in beautiful wood chairs, chattering amongst themselves. Elf and Elfmaiden servants walk about, putting platters and pitchers full of food and drink on the table and walking away with bare plates and empty cups.

"Good morning." A voice rings out. Turning my head to the voice, I see an Elfmaiden smiling up at me, holding a cup of milk in both of her hands at waist level.

Her long dark hair is loosely looped to one side and hangs over her shoulder down to her waist. She is clothed in a flowing yellow dress with long sleeves and silver trimming. The silver trimming sparkles in the sunlight. Perhaps the silver trimming is dusted with crushed gems…I wouldn't be surprised considering this is Rivendell. Have I seen her before?

Looking closer at her, I notice her face's slender outline and brown eyes.

"Good morning, Lady Benthe." I bow my head in respect. Meeting her gaze, she chuckles lightly and says "You have a cleaner, healthier appearance about you."

"Thank you." I say.

"Oh, I never said I liked it. The cleaner part, that is." Her smile grows wider, reaching her cheekbones.

"I had no choice in whether I wanted my stubble shaved or not." Another laugh escapes her smile. She raises the brim of the cup to her lips and sips on the milk.

Frodo comes to Benthe's side as she continues to drink her milk and asks me "Do I know you?"

"Don't you recognize him?" Benthe asks Frodo into her cup. Frodo looks to her and to me, back to her and to me.

A smile appears on his face as he realizes who I am. "Strider! It's good to see you well!"

"And you." I say.

"You still have that pretty slice." Frodo runs his fingers from temple to temple.

"It will heal. No need to worry."

"Good, good."

"Did you hear the news?" Benthe asks as she lowers her cup.

"What news?" I ask.

"That my uncle Bilbo, Gandalf, and Benthe were granted citizenship in Rivendell!" Frodo answers with a smile.

"Wonderful! How is Rivendell accommodating you so far?"

Benthe answers "Perfectly! After our possessions, that is my father and I, were destroyed, Arwen was very kind because she gave me some of her clothes. She gave me too much, seeing that only half the dresses and shoes that fit in my wardrobe."

I laugh, but what does she mean her possessions were destroyed?

"What do mean?" I ask her.

"Mean what?"

"Your possessions? Destroyed?"

"Didn't my father tell you about Sar-Sa…" Benthe falls silent and lowers her gaze, kicking out the tip of her yellow slipper a bit past the hem. She looks back up at me and says "Perhaps it's best my father tells you after breakfast."

I hesitate to agree to this, but nod. "Perhaps it is better to speak on a full stomach." I add.

"Or not." Frodo contends "Depending on how sickening the topic is and how strong your stomach is." Gandalf did not tell me what 'held him up'. Who was 'Sar-Sa'?

"Frodo, Benthe! Come here! The duck bacon's arrived!" I turn my gaze to see Pippin up in his chair facing the wrong way, his hand in the air motioning for them to come. Merry and Sam try to tug Pippin back into his seat, but do so with little success.

"Come on!" Frodo urges, locking hands with Benthe's and lugging her off to the table. I follow and take my seat opposite them near the head of the table. While the five gorge on their duck bacon, I peer down the table to see other Elves eat, talk, laugh and drink. At the head of the table sits Lord Elrond, his twin sons to his left and Arwen to his right, eating their fill of the vast variety of fruits, vegetables, breads, cheeses, and pastries beautifully arranged on silver platters.

Before I demonstrate the graceful and elegant table manners I have been raised with, I treat the food about me as if I am in an Inn, piling red and green apples, goat cheese, four slices of crunchy white bread, and a bunch of bananas onto my one glass plate.

I could really use another plate, but I am sure I have enough stares already. Within minutes, five banana peels and four apple cores are all that remains of my first dish.

I lean over the table and grab two more slices of the white bread and several chunks of the gooey goat cheese. That is gone with only several crumbs to serve as evidence of my meal. My mouth…I scrape my tongue against my teeth several times to rid it of its funny, swollen feeling. Perhaps I am parched. I could really use a nice cold drink.

Seeing a pitcher of cow milk being set down on the table, I grab the empty cup that was resting to the right of my dish and lean over, grasping the smooth handle of the white pitcher and pouring the milk into the cup. I must say, if there was no cup, I would drink the whole pitcher.

Filling my cup to the brim, I set the pitcher back down and sit in my seat, downing the milk in one greedy gulp. Another drink would definitely not hurt. It's not ale.

As I rise from my seat and lean over to grab the pitcher, I stop when I see Gandalf take the empty seat next to Benthe. His beard is trimmed and his grey hair combed neatly. Instead of his usual grey robes, he is clad in clean pale green robes with a gold sash about his waist.

His grey eyes catch me gawking at him, leaning over the table with my cup close to my chest in one hand and the other hand outstretched close to the pitcher's handle. A kind smile crosses his lips, catching me off guard.

"Good morning, my dear friend. It is good to see you in better health." He says.

"It is fine, indeed." I say. "And you appear better having more than the clothes on your back." Gandalf's smile fades as he keeps my demanding gaze for a moment before looking away, pretending to occupy himself with picking the most delectable fruits. I can see through his disguise.

I keep my eye on Gandalf for the rest of breakfast as he splits some chocolate with Benthe and the four Hobbits jumping out of their seats for the so called 'rare delicacy'. Even Frodo's white haired Uncle, Bilbo, leaps out of his seat past Frodo and grabs a chunk of chocolate Gandalf offers him.

Once breakfast ends, the Elf and Elfmaiden servants rush us out into the Eastern Corridor to chat and slowly disperse back to our residences before dinner. As I walk out of the Great Hall trapped in the large crowd, I feel a hand come onto my shoulder. Looking back, I see Gandalf gazing up at me with his grey eyes.

As we push through the crowd to get some space of our own, he says "I got hint that you wanted to speak with me after breakfast."

"I wonder how." I sarcastically say.

"Well, when you put it that way." Gandalf starts to turn and go the opposite way.

"Wait!" I call out, grabbing his shoulder and turning him back round to face me. "My apologies, friend. I did not mean it that way."

We are able to stop because the crowd fans out and slowly trails back to their residences, preparing to start a long day's work of serving, selling, cleaning, managing, and other business positions that pay the money on the maintenance and wellbeing of Rivendell and her citizens.

"That is quite alright." Gandalf smiles again as his hand clasps my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

"That's quite alright." He repeats. I smile in return as he lowers his hand to his side. Gradually though, the smile fades off Gandalf's face as he asks "What did you want to speak to about?"

"What really happened other than you getting 'held up'?"

"Do you ask this in concern for your friend's wellbeing or for the mere want to know?" I go to answer, but stop. What am I asking this question for?

"Both." I reply.

"Well, I'll start from the beginning, but not here." Gandalf nods to the large crowd still around us, meandering about the Corridor.

Gandalf leads me through the crowd and we bump into Sam and Merry chatting together along the way.

"Oh, Strider!" Merry calls out. I stop and turn to face him.

"Yes?"

"Here." Sam says, holding out a dark long pipe. My long pipe!

"How did you…" I trail off, taking the long pipe from his hand in disbelief.

"When you took Frodo" Merry says "we came by your table to search for anything while we sent Benthe and Pippin looking for something to fight you and free Frodo with. We found your long pipe just lying there on the table still smoking."

Chuckling at the fact that they found and returned my long pipe, I look back down to Merry and Sam who stand before me with wolfish grins. I ruffle both of their heads full of blonde curls, thank them, and catch up to a waiting Gandalf. Gandalf and I venture down the Eastern Corridor, up a large grand staircase of three flights and walk a bit more until we reach the large Back Gardens.

We walk along the beige stone path, past the vast assortment of flowers Arwen and I passed when I proposed to her.

"You ready?" Gandalf asks, turning his gaze to me.

"Ready?" I look at him as we continue along the path, slowly pacing one foot with the other.

"You want to know about why I was held up."

"Please, begin."

"Well," Gandalf lowers his gaze as we walk. "after I had sent Frodo, Sam, and my daughter to reach Bree in the cover of the Old Forest, I rode to Isengard to seek the help of Saruman. He gave to me information about Sauron's ever watchful eye and that of his plans against MiddleEarth. Perhaps a bit too much. I inquired him as to how he knew such information. He answered that he had seen it. Saruman told me that he used the palantir to see into Sauron's plans. I told him that the other palantirs are lost, not accounted for. I told him he may never know who else maybe watching.

"He led me into the room where the palantir rested on a pedestal, concealed with a veil. He pulled it off and I took it from him. When I put it back on…I saw Sauron's eye…for a split second. His pupil was like that of a cat's…but wreathed in flame.

"Saruman then told me of Sauron's forces already moving, already preparing for the assault. He said the nine were already pursuing the Ring and would kill the one who bears it. I realized then that I had to leave and find Frodo, but before I could leave, Saruman barred all exits on me and offered me to join forces with Sauron. He already had himself. Saruman the Wise abandoned reason for madness.

"I refused and he locked me away at the very top of his tower, left me to the rain, the wind, the cold. All below me, everywhere I looked, a fiery chasm surrounded Isengard and Sauron's army was being forged right before my own eyes. Saruman took my horse and slew it before me, burned all I had, and left only the clothes on my back.

"I called to the King of Eagles for help and when a moth came to the top of the tower, I jumped and landed atop the Eagle's back, escaping. I was flown here."

Gandalf finished with a shaky breath, lowering his gaze to the ground. Saruman is…is against us. How? Why would Saruman the Wise abandon reason for madness?

"Saruman had no faith in us. He had no faith that we have the potential to defeat Sauron." Gandalf says.

"Whether we have the potential or not, why would one turn from us and join with Sauron, the Dark Lord?" I ask in a low, threatening voice, angry and confused.

"I do not know. I am not the one who abandoned us."


End file.
